igiliiiliip^^ 


Columbia  ®[nibers(itp 
intljeCitpofigetogorfe 


LIBRARY 


GIVEN    BY 


GIFT  OF 
H.  W.  WILSON 


THE   PRISONERS    OF   MAINZ 


THE   DOOM    OF   YOUTH. 


[Frontispiece. 


THE  PRISONERS  OF 
MAINZ 


BY 

ALEC   WAUGH 

AUTHOR   OF 
THE   LOOM  OF   YOUTH,"   "RESENTMENT:  POEMS,"   ETC 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

CAPTAIN    R.   T.    ROUSSEL 

(P.O.W.    MAINZ) 


NEW    YORK 

GEORGE   H.   DORAN  COMPANY 

LONDON 

CHAPMAN   &    HALL,  Ltd. 


GIF  . 
H.  W.  WILSON 

MAR  2  2  1929 


Printed    in    Grkat    Britain    bt 
RiCHAiiD  Clay   (St  Sons,    Limited, 

iiRlJNSWlCK  ST.,  STAMKOI'.C  ST.,  3.1:.  1, 
AND  BUSOAY.  surtoLj: 


34-0.31 
W351 


5- 


r  A    BALLADE    OF    DEDICATION 

TO  MY   FELLOW-GEFANGENER 
0-  A.  H.  CHANDLER 


Fast  locked  within  the  citadel, 

We've  watched  the  hours  of  eight  months  fare 

Slowly  towards  the  evening  bell, 

And  its  cracked  summons  "clear  the  square,*' 

We've  watched  the  stately  barges  bear 

Seawards  their  teeming  casks  of  wine, 

As  we  sat  in  the  alcove  there. 

Sipping  the  vintage  of  the  Rhine* 

Ausgabe  queues,  we  knew  them  well; 
Those  thin  lines  straggling  out  like  hair, 
Receding  from  an  open  cell. 
And  finishing,  the  Lord  knows  where  ; 
And  we  have  felt  barbed  wire  tear 
Our  breeches'  loose  and  draggled  twine; 
But  we've  known  hours  less  foul  than  fair. 
Sipping  the  vintage  of  the  Rhine, 

We  could  forget  the  sauerkraut  smell. 
Forget  our  weariness  and  share 
The  phantasies  that  flocked  pell  mell 
About  our  unreal  world;  arid  there 
Across  the  thick,  smoke-laden  air 
Our  loom  of  dreams  was  woven  fine  ; 
We  tracked  illusion  to  its  lair. 
Sipping  the  vintage  of  the  Rhine, 

ENVOI 
Archie,  we  neither  know  nor  care 
What  waits  for  you,  what  fate  is  mine. 
This  has  been  ours— to  be  friends  there. 
Sipping  the  vintage  of  the  Rhine, 

A,  W. 

Boulogne, 

December  4th,  igi8. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  iL  PAGE 

THE   GREAT   OFFENSIVE 1 

CHAPTER   II 
ON   THE    WAY  TO   THE   RHINE    .  .  .  .18 

CHAPTER  III 
KARLSRUHE   AND    MILTON   HAYES       ...         37 

CHAPTER   IV 
THE    HUNGRY   DAYS 46 

CHAPTER  V 
THE   PITT  LEAGUE 63 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE   GERMAN   ATTITUDE 91 

CHAPTER  VII 
PARCELS 100 

CHAPTER  VIII 
OUR   GENERAL   TREATMENT        .  .  .  .116 

vii 


Contents 


CHAPTER  IX  PAOB 

THE    DAILY   ROUND 129 

# 

CHAPTER  X 
HOW   WE   DID    NOT   ESCAPE        .  .  .  .152 

CHAPTER  XI 
THE   ALCOVE 172 

CHAPTER  XII 
HOW   WE    AMUSED    OURSELVES  .  .  .       193 

CHAPTER  XIII 
ARMISTICE    DAYS 222 

CHAPTER  XIV 
FREEDOM 246 

INDEX 267 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

To  fact  'page 
THE    DOOM   OF  Y^UTH       .  .  .     Frontispiece 

"at     seven     o'clock     the     GERMANS     CAME 

over" 16 

OUR   DAILY   ROLL 48 

THE    *KANTINE'    at   MAINZ        ....  56 

THE  QUEUE  OUTSIDE  THE  PAYMASTER'S  OFFICE  62 

A    PRISON    CELL           .            .            .            .            .            .  104 

A   GALLANT   ATTEMPT   TO   ESCAPE      ,            .            .  162 

THE   BILLIARD-ROOM   AT   MAINZ          .            .            .  172 

OUR   PRISON    SQUARE 194 

"  FIVE     HUNDRED      ODD     OFFICERS     WALKING 

ROUND    THE    SQUARE  "         .            .            .            .  196 

OUR   LEADING   LADY 214 

LIEUT.   MILTON    HAYES    AS     "SILAS    P.    HAWK- 
SHAW "        218 


THE    PRISONERS    OF    MAINZ 
CHAPTER  I 

THE    GREAT    OFFENSIVE 

§    1 

March  21st,  1918. 

The  small  box  respirator,  like  the  thirty- 
nine  articles  of  the  Faith,  should  be  taken 
on  trust;  one  is  quite  prepared  to  believe 
in  its  efficiency.  Countless  Base  instructors 
have  extolled  it,  countless  memos  from 
Division  have  confirmed  their  panegyrics; 
and  with  these  credentials  one  carries  it  on 
one's  chest  in  a  perfect  faith;  but  one  has 
no  wish  to  put  its  merits  to  the  test.  No 
one  if  he  can  help  it  wishes  to  have  his  face 
surrounded  by  elastic  and  india-rubber,  and 
his  nose  clamped  viciously  by  bent  iron; 
and  for  that  reason  my  chief  memory  of 
March  21st  was  the  prolonged  discomfort 
of  a  gas-mask. 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

For  from  the  moment  that  the  barrage 
opened  at  5  a.m.  the  air  was  full  of  the 
insidious  smell  of  gas.  Masks  were  clapped 
on,  and  thus  hooded  the  machine -gimners 
fumbled  desperately  in  search  of  stoppages ; 
it  was  an  uncomfortable  morning. 

Being  stationed  about  two  miles  north  of 
the  left  flank  of  the  German  attack,  it  was  for 
us  a  much  more  comfortable  morning  than 
that  spent  by  most  of  those  south  of  Arras. 
For  when  the  mist  began  to  rise,  it  revealed 
no  phantom  figures;  we  did  not  find  our- 
selves encircled,  and  outflanked,  with  the 
cheerful  alternatives  of  a  perpetual  rest 
where  we  stood  or  of  an  indefinite  sojourn 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  line.  Everything 
presented  a  very  orderly  appearance.  Far 
away  on  the  right  was  the  dull  noise  of  guns, 
but  over  the  whole  of  the  immediate  front 
spread  out  the  peaceful  prospect  of  a  pro- 
gramme of  trench  routine. 

"  Seems  as  if  Jerry  weren't  coming  over 
after  all,"  said  the  section  corporal. 
"  Looks  like  it,"  I  said. 
2 


The  Great  Ojffensive 

"  Then  I  suppose  as  we'd  better  clean 
things  up  a  bit,  Sir." 

"  It  would  be  as  well." 

And  the  half-section  settled  down  to  the 
usual  work  of  cleaning  themselves,  their 
guns,  and  their  position.  The  infantry  on 
the  right  were  even  more  resigned  to  the 
uneventful. 

"  This  'ere  offensive  was  all  wind  up, 
Sir,"  said  the  man  at  the  strombos  form, 
"  they  thought  we  was  gettin'  a  bit  slack, 
I  suppose,  so  they  thought  this  scare  'ud 
smarten  us  up  a  bit ;  but  I  knew  it  all  along, 
Sir;  I'm  too  old  a  soldier  to  be  taken  in 
by  that." 

The  runner  from  Battalion,  however, 
brought  quite  a  different  story. 

"  Been  an  attack  all  along  the  line. 
Arras  to  St.  Quentin,  but  it's  been  broken  up 
absolutely;  never  even  got  the  front  line." 

The  man  at  the  strombos  form  shifted 
suspiciously. 

"  They  not  bin  trying  to  come  over  'ere. 
I  never  seen  no  Germians,"  which  was  not 

3 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

surprising  considering  that  from  where  he 
stood  he  could  not  see  the  front  line  at  all. 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  "  there's  bin  no 
offensive,  and  there  won't  be  one  neither. 
It's  all  a  wind  up." 

At  any  rate,  whether  there  had  been  an 
attempted  attack  or  not,  it  seemed  quite 
clear  that  it  had  not  got  very  far.  With 
that  comforting  certainty,  I  returned  to  the 
position,  and  having  seen  that  the  gims  were 
clean,  descended  into  the  dugout  and  went 
to  sleep. 

About  two  hours  later  a  perspiring  runner 
arrived.  He  was  quite  out  of  breath  from 
dodging  whizzbangs,  and  was  in  consequence 
incapable  of  logical  statement.  He  said 
something  about  "  Bullecourt."  The  chit  he 
brought  explained. 

"  Bullecourt,  Ecoust,  Noreil  are  in  the 
Hands  of  the  Enemy" 

It  took  at  least  five  minutes  to  realise 
what  this  meant.  To  think  that  they  had 
got  as  far  as  that.     It  had  seemed  so  delight- 

4 


The  Great  Offensive 

fully  safe.  One  had  walked  along  the  Ecoust 
road  in  daylight,  and  there  was  a  canteen 
at  Noreil.  And  then  that  glorious  dugout 
in  Railway  Reserve  that  we  had  covered 
with  green  canvas  and  festooned  with  semi- 
nudities  from  the  Taller,  to  think  of  some 
lordly  Prussian  straddling  across  the  table, 
swigging  champagne.  It  was  an  unspeakable 
liberty.  .  .  . 

And  then  a  little  tardily  followed  the 
thought  that  Ecoust  was  not  so  many  miles 
from  Monchy,  and  that  if  the  Germans  had 
got  as  far  as  that  on  the  right,  there  was 
very  little  reason  why  they  should  not  do 
the  same  to  us — an  unpleasant  consideration. 
But  still  everything  seemed  so  delightfully 
quiet.  Only  an  occasional  whizzbang,  or 
four — five — no  one  would  have  thought  there 
was  a  war  on.  Still  Ecoust  was  not  so  very 
far  off;  our  parish  had  provided  funds  for 
a  church  army  hut  at  St.  Leger.  They  had 
been  collecting  for  it  hard  when  I  had  been 
on  leave.  Well,  that  must  have  gone  west 
by  now.  .  .  . 

5 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

And  at  the  top  of  the  dugout  I  could 
hear  the  runner  gradually  recovering  his 
breath  and  explaining  the  strategic  situation 
in  spasms. 

"  You  see,  I  heard  the  captin  say  to  the 
adjutant,  '  Jones,'  he  says,  '  the  Jerrys' 
got  as  far  as  Bullecourt,'  and  when  I  heard 
that  ...  well  ...  I  said  to  myself  .  .  . 
thank  'eavens  I  wasn't  there." 

"  And  you  was  there  two  months  ago,  Kid." 

"  Where  I  was  two  months  ago,  as  you 
say,  and  then  I  heard  the  captin  say  .  .  .  ." 

The  remaining  reflection  was  inaudible. 

The  next  morning  passed  very  quietly,  so 
quietly  that  we  had  almost  forgotten  the 
rumours  of  the  preceding  day.  The  limber 
corporal  had  assured  the  ration  party  that 
there  had  been  a  counter-attack  with  tanks, 
and  that  not  only  had  Bullecourt  been 
retaken,  but  Hendecourt  and  Riencourt  as 
well.  There  seemed  no  cause  for  panic.  The 
rum  had  come  up  as  usual,  and  that  was  the 
main   thing.     After    an    afternoon   of  belt- 

6 


The  Great  Offensive 

cleaning  the  subsection  arranged  itself  as 
usual  into  night  reliefs,  and  then  just  before 
midnight  came  the  news  that  the  Division 
was  evacuating  to  the  "  third  "  line. 

Whenever  the  military  decide  on  a  sudden 
action,  they  impart  the  information  in  a 
delightfully  inconsequent  way.  For  instance, 
on  the  eve  of  the  Cambrai  show,  orders 
were  sent  round  that  in  the  case  of  an 
enemy  withdrawal  limbers  would  proceed 
to  Hendecourt  along  the  road  in  the  map 
square  U  29  B,  and  this  request  was  then 
qualified  by  the  statement,  "It  is  no  good 
looking  for  roads;   there  are  none." 

On  this  occasion  the  message  was  equally 
vague.  It  stated  that  the  front  system 
would  be  evacuated  at  3  a.m.,  and  ordered 
that  all  guns,  tripods,  belt-boxes,  and 
ammunition  would  be  immediately  moved 
and  stacked  at  the  ration  dump  pending  the 
arrival  of  limbers.  The  chit  then  added, 
"  Secrecy  is  absolutely  essential.  On  no 
account  must  the  men  know  anything  of 
this."     The  reasons  on  which  the  authorities 

7 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

based  their  expectations  that  the  men  would 
move  all  their  impedimenta  to  a  ration 
dump,  and  yet  remain  in  complete  ignorance 
of  the  operation,  are  imfathomable.  At  any 
rate  their  hopes  were  unrealised.  At  the 
first  mention  of  dismoimted  guns,  Private 
Hawkins  had  sniffed  the  secret. 

"  Got  to  shift,  'ave  we.  Sir  ?  Then  I 
suppose  we're  going  to  have  a  war  too, 
aren't  we,  Sir  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  I  told  him, 
and  went  below  to  superintend  the  packing 
of  my  kit.  It  was  no  easy  matter.  Things 
accummulate  in  the  line ;  I  always  went  up 
the  line  with  a  modestly  filled  pack,  but  by 
the  time  I  came  down,  it  needed  a  mailbag 
to  hold  the  books  and  magazines  that  had 
gradually  gathered  round  me,  and  after  a 
fortnight  in  the  same  dugout  my  kit  was 
in  no  condition  for  emergency  transportation. 

My  batman  was  examining  it  with  a 
sorrowful  face. 

"  You'll  'ave  to  dump  most  of  these 
books,  Sir." 

8 


The  Great  Offensive 

"  Oh,  but  sm-ely  we  can  get  some  of  them 
down  ?  " 

**  Then  you'll  have  to  dump  those  boots,  Sir, 
and  that  blanket.     Can't  take  the  lot,  Sir." 

It  was  no  use  to  argue  with  him.  The 
batman's  orders  are  far  more  law  than  a 
mandate  from  Brigade.  The  Brigadier  is 
merely  content  to  issue  orders;  batmen  see 
that  theirs  are  carried  out.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  dump  the  books,  and  I 
looked  sadly  at  the  considerable  collection 
that  the  mails  of  the  last  fourteen  days  had 
brought. 

"  Have  they  all  got  to  go  ?  " 

"  'Fraid  so,  Sir." 

"  What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  at  one 
fell  swoop  ?  " 

Private  Warren  eyed  me  stolidly. 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  might  manage  two,  Sir,  but 
no  more." 

I  ran  a  pathetic  eye  over  them.  There 
were  several  I  particularly  wanted  to  save; 
there  were  two  novels  by  Hardy,  Robert 
Graves's  new  book  of  Poems,   Regiment  of 

9 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Women,  a  battered  copy  of  La  Terre,  The 
Oxford  Book  of  Verse,  The  Stucco  House. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  last  two 
were  saved  for  further  odysseys;  there  was 
just  room  in  a  spare  pocket  for  Fairies  and 
Fusiliers ;  the  rest  would  have  to  stay  to 
welcome  the  Teuton. 

At  last  all  the  equipment  of  a  machine- 
gun  section  had  been  carted  away.  I  took 
one  turn  round  the  dugouts  to  see  that  no 
incriminating  document  remained.  The  dug- 
out looked  hospitably  clean;  all  the  deli- 
cacies of  handing  over  had  been  observed, 
but  as  there  would  be  up  one  to  receive 
the  relieving  party,  manners  demanded  some 
sort  of  "Salve";  and  so,  tearing  from  a 
notebook  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  scrawled  across 
it  in  large  letters,  CHEERIOH,  and  pinned 
it  over  the  entrance  of  my  deserted  home. 

§2 

March  28th,  1918. 

Of  course  the  limbers  never  turned  up. 
For  two  months  without  the  least    incon- 

10 


The  Great  Offensive 

venience  from  German  artillery  they  had 
come  up  to  the  ration  dump  every  night,  but 
on  this  particular  night  they  felt  sure  it 
would  arouse  suspicions,  and  so  a  guide  was 
sent  instead.  And  in  France  there  are  only 
two  sorts  of  guides.  There  is  the  guide  who 
does  not  know  the  way  and  owns  up  to  it, 
and  there  is  the  guide  who  does  not  know 
the  way  and  pretends  he  does.  There  are 
no  others.  Luckily  ours  came  under  the 
former   category. 

"  You  see.  Sir,  I've  only  bin  from  Head- 
quarters once  and  that  was  by  day,  and  I'm 
not  too  sin-e  of  the  way  .  .  .  I've  only  been 
'ere  once  and  that  .  .  .  ." 

Which  was  a  pretty  clear  sign  that  a 
compass  bearing  would  be  hardly  less  re- 
liable. We  dumped  most  of  our  spare  kit 
in  the  river,  and  set  off.  It  is  wonderful 
how  disorderly  any  movement  of  troops 
appears  by  night.  Actually  it  was  a  most 
methodical  withdrawal,  but  in  its  progress 
it  looked  pitifully  like  a  rout.  The  road 
seemed    littered    with    cast-off    equipment, 

11 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

ammunition,  packs  and  bombs;  dumps 
were  going  up  all  round.  Innumerable 
Highlanders  had  lost  their  companies; 
nobody  seemed  to  know  where  he  was  going 
or  to  care  particularly  whether  he  ever 
arrived.  A  subsection  of  fifteen  men 
straggled  into  an  echelon  formation  covering 
as  many  yards.  It  appeared  an  absolute 
certainty  that  dawn  and  the  Germans  would 
find  us  still  trailing  helplessly  along  the 
road. 

At  last,  however,  came  the  loved  jingle  of 
harness,  and  the  sound  of  restive  mules. 
We  heaved  packs  and  baggages  on  a  limber, 
and  more  cheerfully  resumed  our  odyssey. 

This  cheerfulness  considerably  diminished 
when  the  section  found  that  our  new  positions 
were  two  hundred  yards  from  the  road,  and 
that  a  hundred  boxes  of  S.A.A.  had  to  be 
stacked  in  half  an  hour.  But  eventually 
peace  was  restored  to  Israel,  and  by  the  time 
that  the  morning  broke,  the  section  was 
fairly  comfortably  lodged  in  some  disused 
German  dugouts. 

12 


The  Great  Offensive 

There  followed  four  very  lazy  days.  The 
two  subsections  had  been  amalgamated,  and 
with  my  section  officer  Evans,  I  spent  most 
of  the  day  working  out  elaborate  barrage 
charts  in  case  of  a  break  through.  Evans 
had  recently  been  on  a  course  at  Camieres 
where  they  had  given  him  an  enormous  blue 
sheet  which  was  warranted  proof  against 
geography.  Evans  regarded  it  as  a  sort  of 
charm. 

"You  see,  with  this,"  he  said,  "you  can 
get  on  to  any  target  you  like  within  thirty 
seconds." 

And  it  was  certainly  an  ingenious  toy,  but 
as  far  as  we  were  concerned,  it  did  not 
accelerate  the  conclusion  of  the  war.  It 
required  a  level  table,  numerous  drawing- 
pins,  carbon  papers,  faultless  draughtsman 
ship  and  much  else  with  which  we  were 
imequipped  :  finally,  when  occasion  de- 
manded we  resorted  to  the  obsolete  method 
of  aiming  at  the  required  target. 

Of  the  actual  war  little  information  was 
gleaned.     The  limber  corporal  brought  each 

13 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

evening  the  account  of  wondrous  sallies  and 
excursions.  Lens  was  purported  to  have 
fallen,  and  an  enveloping  attack  was  in 
progress  further  North.  Lille  was  only  a 
matter  of  days.  And  then  on  the  night  of 
the  27th  there  arrived  the  mail  and  papers 
of  the  preceding  seven  days.  It  came  in 
an  enormous  burst  of  epistolary  shrapnel. 
Personally  I  received  thirty  letters  and  five 
parcels.  We  sat  up  reading  them  till  mid- 
night, and  then  in  a  contented  frame  of  mind 
we  turned  to  the  papers.  It  was  a  bit  of  a 
shock.  We  had  hardly  imagined  that  there 
was  a  war  on  any  front  except  our  o^mi.  We 
had  expected  to  see  headlines  talking  of 
nothing  but  the  Fall  of  Bullecourt  and  our 
masterly  evacuation  of  Monchy.  We  had 
expected  to  see  our  exploits  extolled  by 
Philip  Gibbs;  instead  of  that  they  filled 
a  very  insignificant  corner.  It  was  all 
Bapaume,  Ham,  Peronne.  We  were  merely 
a  false  splash  of  a  wave  that  already  had  gone 
home.  It  was  a  blow  to  our  self-respect. 
There  was  also  no  news  of  any  enveloping 

14 


The  Great  Offensive 

manoeuvres  round  Lille.  The  Germans 
appeared  to  be  doing  all  that. 

Evans  looked  across  at  me  dolefully. 

"  Do  you  think  the  men  had  better  know 
anything  about  that  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Shouldn't  think  so.  By  the  way,  when 
are  we  being  relieved." 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  There  is  going 
to  be  a  war  on  soon." 

And  the  memory  of  the  thirty  letters  and 
five  parcels  thinned. 

"  Oh,  well,"  I  said,  "  I'm  going  to  bed." 

My  sleep  did  not  last  long.  Within  an 
hour  Evans  was  shouting  in  my  ear. 

"  Hell  of  a  strafe  upstairs.  I  think  they're 
coming  over." 

And  indeed  there  was  a  strafe.  Verey 
lights  were  going'  up  all  along  the  front. 
Three  dumps  were  hit  in  as  many  minutes, 
from  the  right  came  ithe  continual  crump  of 
"  minnies."  Luckily  we  were  in  the  shelter 
between  the  barrage  on  the  eighteen-pounders 
and  the  barrage  on  the  front   lines.     The 

15 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

only  shells  that  came  disconcertingly  close 
were  those  from  one  of  our  own  heavies  that 
was  dropping  short,  like  a  man  out  of  breath. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  Germans  came  over,  and 
by  twelve  we  were  being  escorted  to  Berlin. 

Our  actual  engagement  resembles  so 
closely  that  of  every  other  unfortimate  during 
those  sorry  days  that  it  deserves  no  detailed 
description.  The  only  original  incident 
came  at  about  nine  o'clock  when  I  discovered 
the  perfidy  of  the  section  cook.  I  had  sent 
him  down  to  fetch  some  breakfast,  and  he 
returned  smoking  triumphantly  a  gold -tipped 
cigarette  that  he  could  have  obtained  from 
only  one  source.  Perhaps  this  is  what  those 
mean  who  maintain  that  in  the  moment  of 
action  one  sees  the  naked  truth  of  the  human 
soul.  At  any  rate  it  stripped  Private 
Hawkins  pretty  effectively.  No  doubt  this 
kleptomania  had  been  a  practice  with  him 
for  a  long  time,  and  at  this  critical  moment 
I  suppose  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
conceal  it:  "much  is  forgiven  to  a  man 
condemned."     He  literally  flaunted  theft. 

16 


} 


W'' 


/   ^ 


liP#' i^4 


I 


r/ 


fj?^ 


"at   seven    O  clock   the   GERMANS    CAME    OVER. 

\To  jace  paye  10. 


The  Great  Offensive 

"  Hawkins,"  I  said  quietly,  "  you'll  go 
back  to  the  gun-team  to-morrow  We'll  find 
another  cook." 

"  Very  good,  Sir." 

And  almost  instantly  the  order  was  given 
a  divine  confirmation  in  the  form  of  the 
cushiest  of  flesh  wounds  in  Private  Hawkins's 
right  arm. 

After  a  second's  gasp  he  bounded  down 
the  trench. 

"  A  blighty,  Sir,"  he  cried,  "  a  blighty. 
No,  Sir,  don't  want  to  be  bound  up  or 
anything.  They'll  do  that  at  the  dressing 
station.     I'm  orf." 

Visions  had  risen  before  him  of  white  sheets 
and  whiter  nurses.  He  saw  himself  being 
petted  and  made  much  of,  the  hero  of  the 
village;  and  as  the  Germans  slowly  filtered 
roimd  the  flank.  Private  Hawkins  rushed 
down  the  communication  trench,  resolved 
to  put  at  all  cost  the  dressing  station  between 
them  and  him.  He  succeeded.  Probably 
it  was  the  one  time  he  had  ever  tried  to  do 
anything  in  his  life, 
c  17 


CHAPTER  II 

ON   THE    WAY   TO   THE   RHINE 
§1 

At  the  back  of  the  mind  there  always 
exists  a  sort  of  unconscious  conception  of 
the  various  contingencies  that  may  lie  roimd 
the  corner.  It  is  usually  imformulated,  but 
it  is  there  none  the  less,  and  at  the  moment 
when  I  was  captured  I  had  a  very  real  if 
confused  idea  of  what  was  going  to  happen 
to  me. 

The  idea  was  naturally  confused  because 
the  etiquette  of  surrender  is  not  included  in 
Field  Service  Regulations,  and  as  it  is  not 
with  that  intention  that  one  originally  sets 
out  for  France,  the  matter  had  not  bulked 
largely  in  the  imagination.  But  the  ter- 
rorist had  supplied  these  deficiencies,  and  he 
had  made  it  hard  to  rid  oneself  of  the  sup- 
position that  one  had  only  to  cross  a  few 

18 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

yards  of  unowned!  hollows  to  find  oneself  in 
a  world  of  new  values  and  formulae.  As  a 
dim  recollection  of  some  previous  existence 
I  had  carried  the  image  of  strange  brutalities 
and  assaults,  of  callous,  domineering  Prus- 
sians, of  Brigadiers  with  Sadistic  tempera- 
ment. I  was  fully  prepared  to  be  relieved 
of  my  watch  and  cigarette-case,  and  to  be 
prodded  in  the  back  by  my  escort's  bayonet. 

Instead  of  that,  however,  he  presented  me 
with  a  cigar  and  pretended  to  understand 
my  French,  which  is  on  the  whole  the  most 
insidious  of  all  forms  of  compliment. 

There  was  also  a  complete  absence  of  that 
machine-perfect  discipline  of  which  we  had 
heard  so  much.  Several  of  the  German 
officers  had  not  shaved,  men  stood  to  the 
salute  with  their  heels  wide  apart,  and  the 
arrival  of  a  silver  epaulette  was  not  the  sign 
for  any  Oriental  prostrations.  Beyond  the 
fact  that  the  men  wore  grey  imiforms  and 
smoked  imgainly  pipes,  they  strangely 
resembled  an  English  battalion  that  was 
carrying  on  a  minor  local  engagement. 

19 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

The  authorities  who  interviewed  us  and 
confiscated  our  correspondence  displayed  the 
characteristic  magnanimity  of  the  captor; 
after  enlarging  on  the  individual  merits  of 
the  Entente  soldier,  they  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain why  they  themselves  were  winning 
the  war. 

"  It's  staff  work  that  counts,"  they  said. 
"We've  got  ujiity  of  command;  Hinden- 
burg.  You've  got  two  generals,  Haig  and 
Foch." 

Indeed,  everywhere  behind  the  line  there 
was  intense  gratification,  but  not  so  much 
of  the  victory-lust  that  must  have  inflamed 
them  in  the  early  months  of  the  war,  but  of 
the  weariness  that  four  years  had  brought, 
and  of  the  thought  that  the  close  of  so  much 
misery  was  near.  Actual  successes  (so  it 
appeared)  were  only  the  means  to  an  end — 
it  was  peace  that  mattered. 

All  this  was  very  different  from  what  I 
had  expected.  On  the  way  to  Battalion 
Headquarters  I  had  visioned  an  inquisi- 
tional cross-examination.     I  had  expected  to 

20 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

be  questioned  by  some  fierce-jawed  general, 
who  would  demand  the  secrets  of  the  General 
Staff,  which  I  should  heroically  refuse.  Then 
he  would  call  for  the  thumbscrew  and  the 
rack,  for  the  cat-o'-nine-tails  and  the  red- 
hot  iron.  "Will  you  speak  now?"  he 
would  hiss.  But  I  should  remain  as  ever 
steadfastly  loyal.  The  entire  scenic  pano- 
rama of  the  Private  of  the  Buffs  had 
swept  before  my  eye;  only  a  spasm  of 
optimism  had  changed  the  crisis.  Just  at 
the  moment  when  I  was  being  led  out  to 
be  shot,  the  general  would  suddenly  relent. 
His  voice  would  shake,  and  a  quiver  would 
run  down  his  massive  frame. 

"  No,  no !  "  he  would  say,  with  out- 
stretched hand.  "  Spare  him !  He's  only 
a  boy,  and  besides  he's  a  soldier  and,  damn 
it !  that's  all  that  I  am  myself." 

Actuality,  however,  refused  to  reflect  the 
Lyceum  stage.  The  man  with  the  records 
viewed  my  presence  with  complete  equa- 
nimity. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  it's  no  good  my 
21 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

asking  you  any  questions.  You'd  be  sure 
to  answer  them  wrong,  and  besides,  I  don't 
think  you  could  tell  me  so  very  much.     Let's 

see,  you're  in  the Division,  aren't  you? 

Well,  you've  got  the  following  battalions 
with  you." 

And  he  proceeded  to  give  gratuitous  infor- 
mation on  the  most  intricate  points  of 
organisation  and  establishment,  all  the  hun- 
dred and  one  little  things  that  had  been  so 
laboriously  tabulated  before  the  Sandhurst 
exams.,  and  had  afterwards  been  so  speedily 
forgotten.  He  knew  the  number  of  stretcher- 
bearers  in  a  battalion,  the  number  of  G.S. 
wagons  at  brigade,  and  the  quantity  of  red 
tabs  at  division.  Any  one  possessing  a 
quarter  of  his  knowledge  could  have  had  a 
staff  appointment  for  the  asking. 

"  Not  bad,"  he  laughed. 

It  was  now  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  since  the  barrage  had  opened  at  three 
in  the  morning,  none  of  us  had  sat  down  for 
a  moment.  We  began  to  entertain  hopes 
of  lunch, 

22 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

*'  Where  are  we  bound  for  ?  "  I  asked. 

*'  Douai." 

*'  But  we  don't  march  there  to-day,  do 
we?" 

"  If  you  can,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  But 
it's  about  twenty  kilos,  and  by  the  time 
you've  got  to  Vitry  you  probably  won't  be 
sorry  to  have  a  rest." 

The  prospect  of  a  twenty -kilometre  march 
along  the  unspeakable  French  roads  was 
anything  but  encouraging.  It  was  drizzling 
slightly,  and  there  seemed  no  likelihood  of 
getting  any  food.  In  a  sad  silence  we  waited, 
while  the  scattered  groups  of  prisoners  were 
collected  into  a  party  sufficiently  large  to 
be  moved  off  together. 

Proceedings  were  at  this  point  consider- 
ably delayed  by  a  company  sergeant-major 
of  the  Blankshires  who  had  spent  his  last 
moments  of  liberty  near  the  rum  jar;  and 
imder  its  influence  he  could  not  rid  himself 
of  the  idea  that  he  was  still  in  charge  of  a 
parade.  Nothing  would  induce  him  to  fall 
in  in  the  ranks.    He  persisted  in  standing 

23 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

on  a  bank,  from  which  he  directed  operations 
in  bucolic  spasms,  meanwhile  treating  the 
Germans  with  the  benevolent  patronage 
that  he  had  been  wont  to  display  before  the 
newly- joined  subaltern.  It  was  the  one 
flash  of  humour  that  that  grey  afternoon 
provided. 

At  last  enough  stragglers  had  dribbled  in, 
six  officers  and  about  a  himdred  and  twenty 
men,  and  the  march  back  began. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  depression  of 
that  evening.  The  rain  began  to  fall 
heavily,  and  through  its  dim  sheets  peered 
the  mournful  eyes  of  ruined  villages.  We 
marched  in  silence;  Vis-en-Artois,  Dury, 
Torquennes,  one  by  one  they  were  passed, 
the  landmarks  we  had  once  picked  out 
from  the  Monchy  heights.  A  stage  of  ex- 
haustion had  been  reached  when  movement 
became  mechanical.  For  twelve  hours  we 
had  had  no  food,  and  no  rest  for  at  least 
sixteen,  and  to  this  physical  weariness  was 
added  the  depression  that  the  bleak  French 
landscape   never   fails   to   evoke — the    grey 

24 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

stretches  of  rolling  ground  unrelieved  by 
colour;  the  dead-straight  roads  lined  by 
tree-stumps,  the  broken  homesteads ;  and  to 
all  this  was  again  added  the  cumulative 
helplessness  that  the  events  of  the  day  had 
roused;  the  knowledge  of  the  ignominy  of 
one's  position,  and  the  imcertainty  of  what 
was  to  come. 

Gradually  the  succession  of  broken  houses 
yielded  to  whole  but  deserted  villages;  and 
these  woke  even  more  the  sense  of  loneliness, 
of  nostalgia.  Formerly,  on  the  way  back 
from  the  line,  there  was  nothing  so  cheering 
as  to  see  through  the  night  the  first  signs  of 
civilisation.  Then  they  were  to  the  imagi- 
nation as  kindly  hands  welcoming  it  back 
to  the  joys  from  which  it  had  been  exiled. 
But  now  the  shadowy  arms  of  a  distant 
windmill  only  served  to  increase  the  feeling 
of  banishment  and  separation.  Behind  us 
we  could  hear  the  dull  roll  of  guns,  we  could 
see  the  flares  of  the  Verey  lights  curving 
against  the  sky;  and  these  seemed  nearer 
happiness  than  the  imtouched  barns, 

25 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

At  last  towards  ten  o'clock  we  reached 
Vitry  and  were  herded  into  an  open  cage. 
The  whole  surface  of  it  was  a  liquid  slime, 
round  which  men  were  moving,  trying  to 
keep  warm.  Sleep  there  was  impossible. 
But  at  any  rate  there  was  something  to  eat, 
a  cup  of  coffee,  a  quarter  of  a  loaf  of  bread. 
The  German  officer  received  us  as  a  hotel- 
keeper  receives  guests  for  whom  he  has 
no  beds. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  gentlemen,"  he  said ; 
"  but  you're  only  here  for  one  night.  But  I 
think  I  might  be  able  to  find  you  a  little 
room  in  the  hut  for  the  wounded." 

And  so  tired  were  we  that  there  was 
pleasure  in  the  mere  prospect  of  a  roof; 
and  on  a  floor  covered  with  lousy  straw  we 
passed  the  night  in  snatches  of  sleep,  dis- 
turbed every  moment  by  the  tossing  of 
cramped  limbs,  and  by  the  presence  of 
muddy  boots  driven  against  one's  face,  and 
brawny  Highlanders  sprawling  across  one's 
chest.  But  in  that  state  of  exhaustion 
these  troubles  were  remote — for  a  while  at 

26 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

any  rate  we  could  be  still;  and  in  the 
waking  moments  there  lay  no  venom  even 
in  the  recurring  thought  that  on  the  next 
morning  we  should  have  to  begin  our  march 
afresh. 

§2 

At  Douai  we  spent  four  days  of  incor- 
rigible prolixity  in  a  small  house  behind  the 
bank.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  do. 
We  had  no  books:  we  could  not  write.  There 
was  no  chess-board,  and  the  only  pack  of 
cards  was  two  aces  short.  All  we  could  do 
was  to  sleep  spasmodically,  and  try  not  to 
remember  that  we  were  hungry. 

It  was  an  impossible  task.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  think  about.  There  was  no 
chance  of  forgetting  how  little  we  had  had 
for  breakfast.  Slowly  we  dragged  from 
meal  to  meal. 

For  breakfast  we  got  a  cup  of  coffee 
made  from  chestnuts,  and  an  eighth  of  a 
loaf  of  bread.  For  lunch  there  was  a  bowl 
of  vegetable  soup.     For  supper  another  cup 

27 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

of  coffee,  and  another  eighth  of  a  loaf. 
Each  morning  there  was  an  infinitesimal  issue 
of  jam.     That  comprised  our  entire  ration. 

We  also  had  nothing  to  smoke. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  lie  on  our 
beds,  with  every  road  of  thought  leading  to 
the  same  gate.  One  remembered  the  most 
minute  details  of  dinners  enjoyed  on  leave. 
A  steaming  array  of  visionary  dishes  passed 
continually  before  the  eyes.  One  thought 
of  the  tins  of  unwanted  bully  stacked  at 
the  foot  of  dugouts.  And  for  myself  there 
was  the  bitter  recollection  of  three  imtouched 
parcels  that  I  had  received  on  the  eve  of 
capture. 

"  To  think  of  it,"  I  said,  ''  a  whole  haggis, 
two  cakes,  four  tins  of  salmon  !  " 

"  Appalling  !  "  echoed  the  others. 

''  And  to  think  that  the  Jerrys  have 
got  it !  " 

"Don't  talk  about  it,  man;  let's  forget/' 

But  there  was  no  escape. 

"  As  a  perfume  doth  remain 
In  the  folds  where  it  hath  lain," 

28 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

so  lingered  the  thoughts  of  those  tmtouched 
delicacies. 

The  only  interesting  features  of  our  day- 
were  the  talks  we  had  with  one  of  the 
German  interpreters.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  any  of  us  had  a  chance  of  discovering 
their  attitude  towards  the  Entente,  and  it 
was  interesting  to  see  how  closely  their 
propaganda  had  followed  our  own  lines. 

To  our  accoimts  of  atrocities  in  Belgium, 
the  Germans  had  retorted  with  stories  about 
the  Russian  invasion  of  East  Prussia.  By 
them  the  employment  of  native  troops 
against  white  men  was  represented  as  an 
offence  against  humanity  as  gross  as  the 
use  of  gas.  Nothing,  moreover,  would  shake 
their  belief  that  France  and  Russia  were  the 
aggressors.  To  the  interpreter  it  was  a  war 
of  self-defence.  There  is  no  doubt  that  his 
faith  in  this  was  absolutely  sincere. 

But  what  really  touched  him  most  closely 
was  the  propaganda  of  our  Press. 

"  Surely  you  cannot  believe,"  he  [said, 
"  that  we  are  an  entire  nation  of  barbarians  ? 

29 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Whatever  our  quarrels,  you  surely  ought  to 
allow  that  we  are  human  beings.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  your  newspaper  chiefs,"  he 
added,  "  the  war  would  have  been  over 
in  1916." 

It  was  the  one  point  on  which  he  was 
really  bitter. 

One  morning  we  were  standing  in  the 
courtyard,  and  a  German  orderly  was  chop- 
ping up  wood  for  our  fires.  It  was  a  bit 
cold,  and  to  keep  himself  warm  one  of  the 
officers  went  over  to  help  him. 

The  interpreter  turned  to  the  rest  of  us 
and  said  :  "  Now  then,  if  your  John  Bull 
could  get  hold  of  a  photograph  of  that, 
he'd  print  huge  headlines,  '  Ill-treatment  of 
British  Officers.  Made  to  chop  up  wood 
for  German  soldiers.'  " 

It  was  at  Douai  that  we  discovered  for 
the  first  time  the  German  habit  of  putting 
dictaphones  in  prisoners'  rooms.  Ours  was 
attached  to  the  electric  light  appliances 
and  masqueraded  as  a  switch  wire.  But 
if    any   one    listened   to    our    conversation, 

30 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

they  can  have  heard  very  little  to  interest 
them,  save  perhaps  sundry  strings  of 
unsavoury  epithets  preceding  the  word 
"  Boche." 

From  Douai  we  moved  to  Marchiennes; 
half  of  the  way  by  tram.  Every  time  we 
stopped,  French  women  crowded  round  us 
bringing  cigarettes  and  tobacco. 

"It  is  not  allowed,"  said  the  German 
sergeant-major,  "  but  I  shall  be  blind." 

Material  comforts  were  even  fewer  at  our 
new  resting-place.  There  were  eight  of  us 
and  we  were  put  in  a  large,  draughty  barn, 
with  bed-boards  covered  with  bracken  that 
was  unspeakably  lousy.  There  were  no  rugs 
or  blankets  of  any  description,  and  the 
nights  were  miserably  cold.  The  eight  days 
we  spent  there  were  the  worst  of  our  whole 
captivity.  The  food,  consisting  mainly  of 
a  stew  of  bad  fish  and  sauerkraut,  was  at 
times  uneatable.  Indeed,  things  would  have 
gone  very  badly  with  us,  had  we  not  man- 
aged to  make  friends  with  one  of  our  guard. 
He  was  very  small  and  very  grubby,    and 

31 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

introduced  himself  to  us  one  morning  when 
the  commandant  was  not  about. 

"  Me  Alsacian,"  he  said.  "  EngHsh, 
French,  kamarades.     Prussians,  ugh  !  nix." 

From  this  basis  of  common  sympathies 
negotiations  proceeded  as  smoothly  as  lin- 
guistic difficulties  permitted.  He  told  us 
that,  if  we  wanted  food,  the  only  way  was 
to  apply  to  the  Maire.  He  himself  would 
carry  the  letter. 

Two  hours  later  he  returned  with  a  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  packet  of  lard.  It  seemed  a 
banquet,  and  for  the  rest  of  our  stay  he 
brought  us,  if  not  a  living,  at  any  rate  an 
existing  ration,  and  on  the  day  that  we 
moved  he  even  came  on  to  the  station 
carrying  a  sack  of  provisions. 

Oiu-  train  journey  provided  an  admirable 
example  of  official  negligences.  For  official- 
dom is  the  same  all  the  world  over.  In 
England  it  was  like  a  game  of  "  Old  Maid  " ; 
and  so  it  was  here.  To  the  commandant  at 
Marchiennes  eight  prisoners  were  only  so 
many  cards  to  be  got  rid  of  as  quickly  as 

32 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

possible.  As  soon  as  they  had  been  put  in 
a  train,  and  the  requisite  number  of  buff 
sheets  dispatched,  his  job  was  at  an  end. 
What  happened  in  the  course  of  trans- 
mission mattered  not  at  all. 

And  so  the  eight  of  us,  with  two  German 
sentries,  were  put  in  a  train  at  Marchiennes 
at  ten  o'clock  on  a  Monday  morning.  We 
had  rations  for  one  day,  and  we  reached 
Karlsruhe,  our  destination,  at  7  p.m.  on  the 
Thursday.  In  this  respect  our  experience 
is  that  of  every  other  prisoner  that  I  have 
met ;  only  we,  by  being  a  small  party,  fared 
better  than  most. 

First  of  all,  in  regard  to  our  sentries.  As 
there  were  so  few  of  us,  we  soon  managed 
to  get  on  friendly  terms  with  them.  They 
were  a  delightful  couple.  One  of  them  was 
medically  unfit,  and  had  never  been  in  the 
trenches.  He  was  mortally  afraid  of  his 
own  rifle,  and  at  the  first  opportunity 
unloaded  it.  The  responsibility  of  a  live 
round  in  the  breech  was  too  great. 

The  other  was  old  and  kindly,  with  the 
D  33 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Iron  Cross ;  and  like  all  men  who  have  seen 
war,  loathed  it  thoroughly. 

"  Englander  and  German,"  he  said, 
"  trenches,  ah,  blutig;  capout;  here  alles 
kameraden;  krieg,  nix  mehr." 

And  at  every  station  he  tried  to  get  food 
out  of  the  authorities.  He  was  not  very 
successful.  Only  once,  at  Louvain,  did  he 
manage  to  raise  some  bully  beef  and  bread, 
and  if  we  had  had  to  rely  on  official  largess, 
we  should  have  been  very  thin  by  the  time 
we  reached  Karlsruhe.  But  luckily,  through 
being  a  small  party,  we  were  able  to  benefit 
from  the  generosity  of  the  Belgian  civilians 
at  a  small  village  called  Bout-Merveille, 
who  showered  on  us  bread  and  eggs  and 
cigarettes. 

But  for  all  that  the  journey  was  tedious 
beyond  words.  We  were  crowded  in  a 
third-class  carriage,  with  unpadded  seats. 
We  had  nothing  to  read.  Wherever  the 
train  stopped  at  a  siding  it  remained  there 
for  any  period  from  four  to  seven  hours ;  it 
did  all  its  movement  by  night,  and  for  at 

34 


On  the  Way  to  the  Rhine 

least  ten  hours  of  daylight  presented  us 
with  a  stationary  landscape.  It  seemed 
as  though  it  would  never  end.  Nor  did 
our  arrival  in  Germany  afford  any  diver- 
sion. Another  traditional  conception  "  went 
west."  We  had  all  vaguely  expected  to 
receive  some  insult  or  brutality  at  the 
hands  of  the  civilian  population.  But 
no  old  men  spat  on  us,  no  hectic  women 
attacked  us  with  their  hair-pins.  Instead 
of  that  they  regarded  us  with  a  friendly 
curiosity. 

"  Cheer  up  !  "  one  girl  said  to  us.  "  The 
war  '11  soon  be  over.  You  will  be  back  in 
four  months." 

It  was  the  same  here  as  behind  the  line. 
Peace — nothing  else  mattered.  The  Ger- 
mans had  suffered  so  much  personally  that 
they  had  ceased  to  nourish  the  collective 
loyalties  of  world  power  and  empire.  They 
no  longer  wanted  to  conquer  the  world,  they 
wanted  to  be  at  peace ;  and  to  this  end  their 
victories  in  the  field  seemed  the  shortest 
way.     The   short  snatches   of   conversation 

35 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

that  we  had  with  civiUans  on  Heidelberg 
Station  were  all  in  this  key.  Peace  would 
come  in  four  months.  Beyond  that  they 
had  no  ambitions.  They  no  longer  shared 
the  megalomania  of  their  rulers. 


36 


CHAPTER  III 

KARLSRUHE    AND    MILTON    HAYES 

After  the  discomforts  of  the  trenches  and 
the  tedium  of  a  fortnight's  travelling,  Karls- 
ruhe provided  a  delightful  haven.  Here  all 
the  material  needs  were  satisfied;  there 
was  a  Red  Cross  issue  of  tin  foods  three  times 
a  week  :  the  beds  were  moderately  comfort- 
able, and  one's  clothes  could  be  disinfected  : 
and  there  was  a  library.  After  a  fortnight's 
exile  from  books  there  is  no  joy  comparable 
to  the  sight  of  a  printed  page. 

And  in  the  evenings  we  were  allowed  out 
till  eleven  o'clock.  There  were  big  arc 
lamps  under  the  trees,  and  in  this  romantic 
atmosphere  the  greater  part  of  the  camp  lay 
out  reading  in  deck  chairs.  It  was  easy  then 
to  cast  a  false  glamour  over  imprisonment; 
to  see  in  it  a  succession  of  harmonious  days ; 
a  quiet  backwater   in  which   the  mind  was 

37 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

free  to  work.  It  was  easy  to  bathe  the 
emotions  in  the  ordered  periods  of  George 
Moore's  prose,  and  reflect  that  there  *'  lay  no 
troublous  thing  before."  It  was  the  reaction 
natural  after  the  turgid  experiences  of  the 
last  eight  months,  and  it  certainly  made 
that  one  week  at  Karlsruhe  lyrical  with 
content. 

Karlsruhe  was  a  distributing  station 
through  which  all  officer  prisoners  passed  on 
their  way  to  permanent  camps.  But  there 
was  always  retained  a  small  committee  of 
officers  to  superintend  the  activities  of  this 
fluid  community.  There  were  officers  to 
look  after  the  issue  of  relief  parcels,  to  run 
the  library,  to  control  general  discipline.  In 
charge  of  the  Red  Cross  Committee  was 
Tarrant. 

Fourteen  months  of  captivity  had  not 
made  much  impression  either  on  his  cheerful- 
ness or  on  his  health.  In  fact  he  looked  and 
felt  so  fit  that  it  caused  him  some  alarm. 

"  I'm  too  well,"  he  said,  "  I'm  thinking  of 
trying  a  fast." 

38 


Karlsruhe  and   Milton  Hayes 

"  He's  been  saying  that  every  day  for 
the  last  month,"  remarked  Stone,  his  room 
companion. 

"  Oh,  no,  old  man,  really,"  protested 
Tarrant,  "  I've  only  been  waiting  for  it  to 
get  a  bit  warmer." 

After  the  wearisome  discussions  about 
the  incidental  aspects  of  the  war,  it  was  an 
enormous  delight  to  meet  two  people  to 
whom  the  events  of  the  last  year  had  been  a 
matter  chiefly  of  conjecture  and  report. 

"  You  will  get  awfully  sick  of  all  this,  of 
course,  after  fourteen  months,"  said  Tarrant, 
*'  but  it's  really  a  capital  place  to  get  one's 
ideas  settled." 

One  is  always  extraordinarily  polite  to  a 
person  one  meets  for  the  first  time.  After 
three  days  the  need  for  politeness  goes.  But 
on  that  first  occasion  the  opinions  of  the 
other  are  treated  with  a  laborious  respect. 
Conversation  takes  a  turn  of,  "  Of  course 
that's  quite  true,  but  I  must  say  that  person- 
ally ..."  and  that  was  the  way  that  Tarrant 
listened  to  my  heresies  on  the  first  evening. 

39 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Long  before  I  had  vanished  from  Karlsruhe, 
however,  the  respectful  tone  had  degenerated 
into,  "Won't  do,  old  man,  won't  do,"  and 
there  have  been  times  since,  when  I  have 
emerged  sadly  tattered  from  some  war  of 
dialectic,  that  I  have  longed  wistfully  for 
those  early  days. 

The  next  afternoon  Tarrant  was  in  a 
chastened  mood. 

"  I've  begun  my  fast,"  he  explained.  "  It 
was  not  so  bad  after  breakfast.  But  by 
lunch  time  it  got  pretty  awful,  and  by 
now  .  .  .  ." 

"It  gets  better  after  the  third  day,  I'm 
told,"  Stone  hazarded. 

"  You  know,"  Tarrant  went  on,  "  before 
I  began  this  fast,  I  made  a  whole  pile  of 
arguments  in  favour  of  it ;  but  really  at  this 
moment,  I  can't  remember  a  single  one." 

"  Shall  I  suggest  a  few  ?  "  said  Stone. 

"  No,  thanks." 

However,  the  resolution  held  good,  and  for 
the  space  of  five  complete  days  he  did  not 
eat  a  morsel  of  food.     The  moment  it  was 

40 


Karlsruhe  and  Milton  Hayes 

over  he  declared  it  to  be  a  capital  scheme, 
and  recommended  it  to  all  his  friends. 


It  was  at  Karlsruhe  that  I  met  Milton 
Hayes.  Off  the  stage  he  is  in  appearance 
very  much  like  the  remainder  of  humanity, 
but  no  one  who  has  met  him  once  could  ever 
forget  him.  He  is  the  one  man  who  has 
accepted  Popular  Taste  as  a  constant  thing, 
has  defined  that  thing,  and  found  a  theory 
on  which  to  work. 

The  majority  of  popular  artists  always 
adopt  an  attitude  of,  "  Well,  there  must  be 
something  about  my  stuff,  I  don't  know  what 
it  is,  a  little  trick,  something  that  hits  the 
popular  fancy.     I  can't  explain  it." 

But  Milton  Hayes  has  his  theory  cut  and 
dried.  He  has  formed  a  vessel  in  which  all 
his  work  can  take  shape.  He  has  written 
two  monologues.  The  Green  Eye  of  the 
Little  Yellow  God,  and  The  Whitest  Man 
I  Know,  that  have  sold  more  than  any 
other  similar  compositions,  and  he  wrote 
them  both,  as  it  were,  to  scale. 

41 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  The  great  thing,"  he  said,  "is  to  ap- 
peal to  the  imagination.  Don't  describe : 
suggest.  All  the  best  effects  are  got  by 
placing  the  vital  incident  off  the  stage.  Let 
your  public  imagine,  don't  tell  them  any- 
thing; just  strike  chords.  It's  no  good 
describing  a  house;  the  person  will  always 
fix  the  scene  in  some  spot  that  he  himself 
knows.  In  as  few  words  as  possible  you've 
got  to  recall  that  spot  to  him.  He'll  do  the 
rest." 

About  the  "Green Eye"  he  made  no  pre- 
tence. He  wove  roimd  it  no  air  of  mystery 
and  cracker  tinsel. 

"  It  took  me  five  hours  to  write,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  worked  it  all  out  first.  I  don't  say 
it's  real  poetry;  but  it  does  what  I  set  out 
to  do.  It  appeals  to  the  imagination.  It 
starts  off  with  colom^s,  green  and  yellow,  that 
at  once  introduce  an  atmosphere.  Then 
India:  well,  every  one's  got  his  idea  of  India; 
it's  a  symbol.  It  conveys  something  very 
definite  to  the  average  mind.  Then  play  on 
the   susceptibilities.     '  His   name   was   mad 

42 


Karlsruhe  and   Milton  Hayes 

Karou  '  :  you've  got  the  whole  man.  The 
pubhc  will  fill  in  the  picture  for  you.  And 
then  the  mystery  parts ;  just  leave  enough 
imsaid  to  make  paterfamilias  pat  himself 
on  the  back,  '  I've  spotted  it,  he  can't  do 
me.  I'm  up  to  that  dodge ;  I  know  where  he 
went ' ;  and  when  you  are  at  the  end  you 
come  back  to  the  point  you  started  from.  It 
carries  people  back.  You've  got  a  compact 
whole  :  and  you  touch  the  sense  of  pathos, 
'  A  broken-hearted  woman  tends  the  grave  of 
mad  Karou.'  They'll  weave  a  whole  story 
roimd  that  woman's  life.  Every  man's  a 
novelist  at  heart.  We  all  tell  ourselves 
stories.  And  that's  what  you've  got  to 
play  on." 

And  that  is  where,  I  think,  Milton  Hayes's 
greatness  really  lies.  He  thoroughly  under- 
stands his  audience;  he  can  change  places 
with  each  individual  that  is  listening  to  him. 
He  never  has  to  try  a  thing  on  some  one  first 
to  see  whether  it  will  go.  He  knows  at  once 
what  will  get  over  and  what  will  not.  One 
of  the  most  amusing  sketches  he  has  done 

43 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

was  a  burlesque  of  a  war-lecture  made  by 
a  famous  London  journalist.  He  mimicked 
his  subject  completely,  but  where  the  real 
''punch"  lay  was  in  his  analysis  of  the 
emotions  of  each  individual  and  couple 
leaving  the  hall.  He  knew  exactly  what 
each  one  would  make  of  it. 

One  of  his  chief  maxims,  too,  is  that  an 
actor  must  remember  that  he  is  performing 
not  to  individuals  but  to  couples. 

"  People  don't  go  to  shows  by  themselves," 
he  said,  "  and  you  must  remember  that  a 
thing  that  may  sound  silly  to  a  man  when  he's 
by  himself  sounds  very  different  when  he's 
with  his  best  girl.  You've  got  to  get  that 
moment  when  a  boy  wants  to  squeeze  the 
hand  of  the  girl  he's  sitting  next,  and  the  old 
married  couple  simper  a  bit,  and  think  that 
after  all  they've  not  had  such  a  bad  time 
together. 

"  And  I  dare  say  that  is  why  a  play  like 
Romance  seems  so  bad  to  the  critic.  He's 
gone  there  by  himself,  when  he  should  have 
gone  there  with    a   girl.     Romance  has   got 

44 


Karlsruhe  and  Milton  Hayes 

all  the  sure  hits;  it's  steeped  in  amber 
light.  All  the  effects,  the  hidden  singer,  the 
one  passion,  the  woman  that  never  marries. 
But  you  must  not  go  to  a  show  like  that  by 
yourself." 

What  others  have  done  imconsciously, 
Milton  Hayes  has  done  consciously.  He 
knows  exactly  what  he  is  doing,  and  in 
consequence  relies  less  on  chance  than  others 
of  his  profession,  and  if,  as  he  promises,  he 
takes  to  writing  musical  comedies  after  the 
war,  there  should  be  very  little  doubt  of 
his  success. 

The  week  at  Karlsruhe  passed  very  quickly, 
and  very  pleasantly,  and  I  was  thoroughly 
sorry  to  have  to  leave,  especially  as  Tarrant 
and  Stone  were  on  the  permanent  Red  Cross 
staff.  The  prospect  of  a  new  camp  at  Mainz 
offered  hardly  any  attractions.  There  would 
be  nothing  there;  no  library,  no  sports 
outfits;  we  should  have  all  the  trouble  of 
starting  the  machinery  of  a  "  lager."  Not 
one  of  us  looked  forward  to  it. 

45 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   HUNGRY   DAYS 
§   1 

The  entrance  of  the  Citadel  Mainz  was 
calculated  to  inspire  the  most  profound 
gloom.  An  enormous  gate  swung  open,  re- 
vealing a  black  and  cavernous  passage.  As 
soon  as  all  were  herded  in,  the  gate  shut 
behind  us,  and  we  were  immersed  in  dark- 
ness. Then  another  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
passage  creaked  back  on  unoiled  hinges,  and 
ushered  us  into  our  new  home.  That  cob- 
webbed  passage  was  like  the  neutral  space 
between  two  worlds.  It  laid  emphasis  on 
captivity. 

Under  the  lens  of  the  mendacious  camera 
the  entourage  of  the  citadel  presents  a  very 
pleasant  aspect.  The  square  looks  bright  and 
large,  the  rooms  light  and  airy;  from  the 
top  windows  there  is  a  delightful  view   of 

46 


The  Hungry   Days 

the  Mainz  steeples  and  of  the  Rhineland 
hills,  and  a  fleeting  glimpse  can  be  caught 
of  Heine's  bridge.  But  to  the  jaundiced 
eye  of  the  Gefangener  all  this  comeliness  was 
illusion.  In  actual  circumference  the  square 
measured  about  400  yards,  and  it  was  too 
full  of  the  ghosts  of  squad  drill.  On  most 
of  the  walls  were  painted  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  dummy  targets,  that  a  regiment 
of  snipers  had  once  used  for  rifle  practice. 
The  spirit  of  militarism  was  strong;  and 
however  delightful  the  Rhine  may  look  when 
photographed  from  the  top-story  window  of 
a  tall  block,  it  is  less  arcadian  when  viewed 
through  a  screen  of  wire  netting.  The 
whole  place  was  littered  with  sentries,  and 
barbed  wire.  For  not  one  moment  could 
one  imagine  one  was  free.  At  times  even 
a  sort  of  claustrophobia  would  envelop  one. 
The  desire  to  move  was  imperative,  and  the 
tall  avenue  of  chestnuts  seemed  to  rise 
furiously,  as  though  they  were  sentinels  that 
would  some  day  draw  all  things  to  themselves. 
Some  of  the  rooms  were,  it  is  true,  light 
47 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

and  sunny.  But  the  rooms  in  Block  III 
were  miserably  dark.  The  windows  were 
on  a  level  with  the  ground  on  account  of  a 
moat  that  ran  round  the  building,  and  in 
front  a  line  of  chestnuts  shut  out  the  sun- 
light. The  rooms  were  long  and  narrow, 
with  bars  across  the  windows.  At  the  end 
it  was  very  often  too  dark  to  read ;  the  window 
sill  was  the  only  place  that  provided  enough 
light  for  a  morning  shave  .|  From  the  outside 
and  from  the  inside  the  block  was  like  a 
dungeon,  and  the  official  photographs  omitted 
to  immortalise  it. 

The  routine  of  the  camp  was  very  simple. 
At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  breakfast, 
consisting  of  coffee,  was  brought  to  the 
rooms.  At  half -past  nine  there  was  a  roll- 
call.  At  twelve  midday  there  was  Imich  in 
the  mess-rooms;  at  three  in  the  afternoon 
coffee  was  brought  round  to  the  rooms;  at 
six  there  was  supper  in  the  mess-rooms.  At 
nine  the  doors  of  the  block  were  closed ;  at 
nine-thirty  there  was  an  evening  roll-call; 
at  eleven  lights  went  out. 

48 


r  ^.      ^     r 


a. 


^^r^ ' ' 


\     ^ 


OUR    DAILY    ROLL. 


[To  jac^  page  48. 


The  Hungry  Days 

But  for  two  fortunate  contingencies  those 
early  days  would  have  been  almost  unen- 
durable. One  of  them  was  the  arrival  from 
Karlsruhe  of  Tarrant  and  Stone.  During 
our  first  week  every  evening  brought  a 
draft  of  new  arrivals ;  and  among  one  of  the 
later  of  these  appeared  Tarrant  and  Stone, 
staggering  beneath  the  accumulated  kit  of 
fourteen  months'  imprisonment.  The  change 
contented  them  little.  After  the  shelter  and 
privacy  of  a  room  for  two,  it  was  no  joke 
to  be  dumped  into  the  publicity  of  a  room  of 
ten.  The  creature  comforts  were  missing. 
Naturally  we  showered  sympathy.  But 
as  a  practical  philosophy  altruism  is  a 
sadly  broken  reed.  The  pleasure  at  the 
prospect  of  their  company  quite  outweighed 
the  inconvenience  that  its  presence  had 
caused  to  them;  and,  besides  that,  they 
brought  with  them  no  small  part  of  a 
library.  The  bookless  days  were  over  now. 
No  more  should  I  have  to  spend  a  whole 
morning  over  the  only  volume  in  the  room 
— The  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  No  more 
E  49 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

should  I  have  to  go  to  the  most  extreme 
lengths  of  subservience  to  borrow  Freckles 
or  The  Rosary. 

The  other  piece  of  luck  we  had  was  in 
the  weather.  During  the  early  days  of  May 
the  square  was  bathed  in  a  metallic  heat; 
and  as  soon  as  roll-call  was  over  a  deck 
chair  was  pushed  into  the  shade  of  a  tree, 
where  one  could  doze  and  read  throughout 
the  whole  morning,  and  forget  that  one 
was  hungry. 

For  those  were  hungry  days.  Indeed  it 
is  hard  not  to  make  the  first  two  months 
a  mere  chronicle  of  sauerkraut.  I  honestly 
believe  that  the  Germans  gave  us  as  much 
food  as  they  could,  considering  we  were 
"  useless  mouths  "  :  but  it  was  precious 
little.  After  all  it  is  one  thing  to  be  reduced 
to  short  rations  by  slow  gradations,  but  it 
is  a  very  different  thing  to  be  taken  from 
the  flesh-pots  of  France  where  one  eats  a 
great  deal  too  much,  to  a  vegetable  diet 
that  was  not  nearly  sufficient.  There  was 
only  one    proper  meal  a  day:    lunch.     We 

50 


The  Hungry  Days 

then  got  two  plates  of  soup,  three  or  four 
potatoes,  and  a  spoonful  or  two  of  beetroot 
or  cabbage.  The  effect  lasted  for  three  hours. 
Supper  rarely  provided  potatoes;  usually 
two  plates  of  thin  soup,  and  sauerkraut 
or  barley  porridge.  In  addition  there  was 
a  fortnightly  issue  of  sugar,  a  weekly  issue 
of  jam,  and  a  bi-weekly  issue  of  bread.  On 
this  last  issue  the  Gefangener's  fate  depended. 
Life  simplified  itself  into  an  attempt  to 
spread  out  a  small  loaf  of  bread  over  four 
days.  It  did  not  often  succeed.  On  the 
first  day  one  carefully  marked  out  on  the 
crust  the  limit  at  which  each  day's  plunder- 
ings  must  stop.  The  loaf  was  divided,  first 
of  all,  into  four  equal  parts,  then  each  quarter 
was  again  marked  out  in  divisions ;  so  much 
for  breakfast,  so  much  for  tea,  so  much  for 
supper.  It  did  not  work.  Each  day  removed 
its  neighbour's  landmark.  By  the  third  day 
only  a  little  edge  of  crust  remained.  It 
was  demolished  by  tea-time,  and  nothing 
quite  equalled  the  depression  of  the  evening 
of  that  third  day.     The  worst  time  was  at 

51 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

eight  o'clock.  The  effect  of  a  slender  supper 
had  by  then  worn  off,  and  there  was  the 
comforting  reflection  that  for  sixteen  hours 
there  was  not  the  least  likelihood  of  being 
able  to  lay  hand  on  any  food;  and  the 
dizziness  of  a  breakfastless  morning  is  an 
experience  no  one  would  wish  to  indulge  in 
twice. 

They  were  strange  days,  and  strange  things 
happened.  Money  ceased  to  have  any  value 
unless  it  could  be  turned  into  edible  substance. 
Those  with  big  appetites  carried  on  a  sort 
of  secret  service  to  obtain  bread;  fabulous 
sums  were  offered  for  a  quarter  of  a  loaf  of 
bread  that  contained  less  flour  than  potatoes ; 
and,  at  a  time  when  a  mark  was  worth  a 
shilling,  there  were  those  who  were  prepared 
to  pay  seventy-five  marks  for  a  loaf;  and 
twenty  marks  for  half  a  loaf  was  the  lowest 
rate  of  exchange. 

One  knew  then  the  emotions  of  the  man 
with  threepence  in  his  pocket ;  who  is  feeling 
ravenously  hungiy  and  knows  that,  if  he 
spends  that  threepence   on  dinner,  he  will 

52 


The  Hungry  Days 

have  nothing  left  for  the  next  day.  It  is 
an  alternative  that  in  terms  of  brown  bread 
has  presented  itself  to  every  prisoner  of  war. 

The  psychology  of  semi-starvation  would 
make  an  interesting  study;  and  it  would 
bring  out  very  clearly  the  irrefutable  truth 
that  the  only  way  to  get  any  peace  for  the 
mind  is  by  throwing  sops  to  the  physical 
appetites ;  that  passions  must  be  allayed,  not 
suppressed ;  and  that  the  moment  anything 
is  suppressed  it  becomes  an  obsession.  For 
there  is  poison  in  every  unacted  desire,  and 
the  only  way  to  deal  with  the  appetites  is  to 
be  neither  their  slave  nor  tyrant.  Asceticism 
renders  a  clear  view  of  life  impossible. 

And  during  those  days,  if  one  sufficiently 
objectified  one's  emotions,  there  would  be 
always  fomid  the  insidious  germ  working  its 
way  into  the  most  unlikely  places.  Even 
in  books  there  was  no  escape  from  it;  it 
deliberately  perverted  the  author's  meaning. 
And  one  occasion  comes  back  very  vividly. 
I  was  reading  La  Debacle  and  had  reached 
the  scene  where  Louis  Napoleon  is  sitting 

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The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

alone  in  his  room,  and  his  servants  lay  before 
him  dish  after  dish  which  he  leaves  untouched. 
And  because  of  this  perpetual  hungriness  the 
whole  effect  of  the  incident  was  spoilt.  I 
could  not  get  into  the  mood  necessary  to 
appreciate  the  effect  Zola  had  aimed  at.  All 
I  could  think  was,  "Here  is  this  appalling 
ass  Louis  Napoleon,  surrounded  with  meats 
and  fish,  entrees  and  omelettes,  and  the  fool 
does  not  eat  them.  If  only  they  had  given 
me  a  chance  !  " 

It  was  interesting,  too,  to  notice  its  effect 
on  a  man  like  Milton  Hayes.  Naturally  it 
hit  him  in  that  most  vulnerable  point,  his 
theory  of  Popular  Taste. 

One  morning  I  found  him  sitting  on  a  seat, 
dipping  into  three  books  in  turn,  Lorna 
Boone,  Pickwick  Papers,  and  The  Knave  of 
Diamonds, 

"  A  strange  selection,"  I  said. 

"No,"  he  said;  "they  are  all  the  same, 
really.  They've  all  done  the  same  thing; 
they've  sold ;  they've  got  the  same  bedrock 
principle  somewhere,  and  Ithink  I've  found  it." 

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The  Hungry  Days 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  Gratification  of  appetite.  All  these  ac- 
counts of  big  meals  and  luxury.  That's  what 
gets  over.  People  don't  want  psychology. 
But  they'll  smack  their  lips  over  the  dresses 
and  feasts  in  The  Knave  of  Dimnonds ; 
and  then  look  at  the  venison  pasties  in 
Lorna  Doone,  and  the  heavy  dinners  in 
Pickwick,  That's  what  people  want.  They 
have  not  got  these  things ;  but  they  want  to 
be  told  they  exist  somewhere,  and  that  they 
are  there  to  be  found.  If  ever  you  want  to 
write  a  book  that  will  really  sell,  remember 
that :  gratification  of  appetite :  make  their 
mouths  water." 

§2 
There  was,  of  course,  in  the  form  of  the 
Kantine  an  official  method  of  supplementing 
the  ordinary  issue.     And  across  that  counter 
strange  things  passed. 

Every  day  provided  a  fresh  experiment. 
A  rumour  would  fly  round  the  camp  that 
there  was  a  new  sort  of  tinned  paste  to  be  had, 

55 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  I  saw  a  fellow  coming  out  with  a  biggish- 
looking  tin,"  some  one  would  say.  "  I 
don't  know  what  was  in  it.  But  it  was  too 
big  for  boot  polish." 

There  would  follow  a  general  rush,  and 
a  queue  thirty  deep  would  prolong  itself 
outside  the  door.  The  mixture  would  turn 
out  to  be  a  green  paste  purported  to  be 
made  from  snails  and  liver.  For  a  day  or 
two  the  imfortunates  who  had  bought  it 
spread  it  over  their  bread,  and  tried  to  make 
themselves  believe  they  liked  it.  The  only 
purpose  it  really  served  was  to  make  the 
bread  look  thicker  than  it  was. 

Then  another  tin  would  appear;  there 
would  be  another  rumour,  another  rush  to 
the  door,  another  disillusionment.  There  was 
a  crab  paste,  a  vegetable  paste,  a  nondescript 
brown  paste ;  all  in  turn  went  their  way,  and 
yielded  to  the  soft  intrigue  of  Dried  Veg. 

Dried  Veg  presented  itself  very  innocu- 
ously in  a  paper  bag  covered  with  directions 
in  German.  It  looked  dry  and  imappetising. 
None  of  us  knew  how  it  should  be  treated, 

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The  Hungry  Days 

but  the  consensus  of  opinion  decided  that 
half  an  hour's  boiling  was  all  that  was 
needed ;  and  so  adhering  to  the  popular  idea, 
we  emptied  the  packet  into  a  saucepan  full 
of  water,  boiled  it  for  half  an  hour,  and  ate 
it.     It  was  really  not  so  bad. 

Within  half  an  hour,  however,  we  knew 
that  something  was  wrong.  All  of  us  began 
to  move  uncomfortably.  Pain  spread  itself 
across  our  stomachs :  and  then  too  late 
appeared  one  who  could  translate  the  in- 
structions on  the  wrapper.  The  contents 
should  have  been  left  to  stand  in  water  for 
at  least  twenty-four  hours,  by  which  time 
it  would  have  absorbed  all  the  moisture  de- 
manded by  its  composition.  We  had  given 
it  only  half  an  hour's  boiling.  It  took 
its  revenge  by  swelling  silently  within  us. 

It  was  a  terrible  night. 

From  these  expenditures  it  will  follow 
that  life  at  Mainz  was  not  quite  so  cheap  as 
might  be  imagined.  And  we  were  imfortu- 
nate    in    being  captured   at   a    time   when 

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The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

the  value  of  a  mark  was  very  high.  For, 
thanks  to  the  business  instincts  of  our 
German  bankers,  a  cheque  for  three  pounds 
was  worth  only  sixty  marks. 

Myself  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
bimetallism,  rate  of  exchange,  or  any  of 
the  other  commercial  problems  that  regu- 
late the  value  of  money.  But  the  equivalent 
of  the  sixty  marks  paid  monthly  by  Messrs. 
Cox  to  the  German  Government  appeared 
in  our  pass-books  at  that  time  as  £2  10s,  6d, ; 
and  as  at  our  end  we  had  to  pay  £3  for  the 
same  number  of  marks,  one  is  driven  to 
assume  that  the  intermediary  German  firm 
was  making  a  profit  of  about  sixteen  per 
cent,  on  every  cheque  drawn;  a  basis  on 
which  we  would  all  like  to  run  a  bank. 

The  result  both  of  the  rushes  to  the  Kan- 
tine  and  the  succeeding  rushes  to  the  Pay- 
master's office  was  the  distinguishing  feature 
of  our  daily  routine — Queues.  For  the  first 
impression  of  a  stranger  entering  the  citadel 
would  have  been  of  a  sequence  of  trailing 
lines    receding    from     open    doors.     Every 

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The  Hungry   Days 

department  had  its  own  particular  queue. 
There  was  the  queue  outside  the  library,  an 
insignificant  affair  owing  to  the  thinly 
lined  shelves;  the  queue  outside  the  tin 
store  for  those  who  had  parcels,  and  the 
two  main  streams  of  humanity,  the  queue 
from  the  Kantine,  and  the  queue  from  the 
Paymaster's  office.  These  two  last  were  in 
a  continual  state  of  flux,  a  ceaseless  ebb  and 
flow;  the  moment  that  they  seemed  likely 
to  be  engulfed  within  the  welcoming  por- 
tals there  would  be  another  meeting  of  the 
ways,  more  applicants  w^ould  arrive,  and  the 
human  rivers  would  overflow  their  banks. 
To  any  one  who  enjoyed  this  pastime,  life 
was  prodigal  of  entertainment.  He  could 
flit  from  one  dissipation  to  another.  But  to 
the  majority  it  was  a  tedious  business,  and 
the  art  of  "  queuing  "  began. 

For  an  art  it  certainly  was.  As  the 
master  of  finance  is  always  watching  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  markets,  so  that  he  shall 
know  the  exact  moment  at  which  to  buy 
or  to  sell ;  so  the  master  queuist  would  bide, 

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The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

waiting  for  that  moment  when  the  stream 
would  be  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and  when  he 
might  safely  attach  himself  to  its  interests. 
The  cowardly  might  enrol  themselves 
stolidly  at  an  early  hour,  and  shifting  for- 
ward slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  they 
would  eventually  reach  the  doors.  For  them 
there  was  in  queuing  neither  colour  nor 
excitement.     It  was  a  dead  level. 

But  for  the  artist  in  queues  it  was  alto- 
gether different.  He  hazarded  much.  He 
had  to  work  out  whether  or  not  it  would 
really  pay  him  to  get  to  the  door  of  the 
Kantine  an  hour  before  it  was  due  to  open. 
If  he  waited  till  later  on  in  the  day,  he  might 
manage  to  take  advantage  of  some  quiet 
lull,  and  gain  his  ends  after  a  paltry  thirty 
minutes'  wait.  But,  if  he  did,  there  was 
always  the  chance  that  when  he  did  arrive 
the  article  he  had  desired  would  be  no 
longer  there.  The  whole  stock  of  liver 
paste  might  have  been  exhausted.  An 
appalling  contingency.  All  these  considera- 
tions had  to  be  weighed. 

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The  Hungry  Days 

And  with  regard  to  the  Paymaster's  office 
there  were  attached  notable  risks.  At  noon 
every  day  the  gates  were  closed,  and  con- 
sequently at  about  half-past  eleven  the 
applicants  ceased  to  arrive.  Nobody  cares 
to  wait  thirty  minutes  and  then  have  the 
doors  shut  upon  him ;  and  it  was  here  that  the 
genius  of  the  queuist  was  most  in  evidence. 

At  half-past  eleven  he  would  look  at  the 
queue  :  there  were  fifteen  people  waiting : 
would  those  fifteen  people  be  able  to  draw 
their  cheques  in  time  ?  and  in  cases  like  this 
a  mere  average  of  time  was  valueless.  In 
queuing,  as  everywhere  else,  all  standards 
were  relative.  Because  on  one  day  twenty 
people  had  drawn  their  money  in  as  many 
minutes,  it  did  not  follow  that  on  another 
fifteen  would  draw  theirs  in  an  hour.  Na- 
tionalities had  to  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion. Those  twenty  men  were  probably 
Irishmen.  But  if  there  were  ten  kilts  out- 
side the  gate,  even  when  the  hands  of  the 
clock  stood  only  at  a  quarter-past  eleven, 
the   great  queuist  would    turn  away.      He 

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The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

knew  that  to  each  of  those  ten  Scotsmen 
the  Paymaster  would  have  to  explain  the 
theory  of  exchange  in  indifferent  English, 
which  would  not  be  understood,  and  that 
the  Paymaster  would  then  have  to  try  and 
gather  the  drift  of  a  Scotsman's  logic  in  a 
language  he  had  not  heard  before,  and  that 
for  each  individual  applicant  an  interpreter 
would  have  to  be  summoned. 

Queuing,  if  refined  to  an  art,  required  a 
great  deal  more  than  the  merely  neutral 
quality  of  patience. 


62 


ill}. 7 


/fi 


— —  'h}\    ' 
—  II  iV 

l|:miilllllllllllil\  ' 


THE   QUEUE   OUTSIDE   THE   PAYMASTER  S    OFFICE. 

[To  face  page  6: 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PITT    LEAGUE 

§1 

At  the  beginning  of  May  we  had  all 
resigned  ourselves  to  a  stay  of  at  least  two 
years  in  Germany.  After  that  we  should  be 
probably  exchanged,  or  interned  in  a  neutral 
country.  Perhaps  the  war  might  be  over. 
At  any  rate  soldiering  was  more  or  less  done 
with ;  and  the  eye  began  to  turn  once  again 
towards  civilian  occupations.  In  conse- 
quence the  Future  Career  Society  was 
born. 

It  opened  very  modestly,  imder  the  aus- 
pices of  a  field  officer  and  two  subalterns. 
Its  programme  was  to  find  out  what  each 
person  wanted  to  learn,  and  to  provide 
classes  as  far  as  was  possible  in  the  required 
subjects.  It  was  hoped  to  bring  together 
members  of  the  same  profession  and   form 

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The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

circles    for     Schoolmasters,     Bankers,     and 
Farmers. 

This  scheme  presented  countless  oppor- 
tunities for  the  Bureaucrat.  There  is  in 
every  community  a  certain  number  of  people 
who  are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  are 
confronted  with  a  host  of  particulars  that 
demand  tabulation.  They  glory  in  the  sight 
of  a  ledger,  ruled  off  into  meticulously  exact 
columns.  They  love  to  write  at  the  top  of 
each  column:  size  of  boots,  colour  of  hair, 
number  of  distinguishing  marks. 

To  such  a  one  was  entrusted  the  clerkship 
of  the  Future  Career  Society.  It  was  an- 
nounced "that  at  such  and  such  an  hour  he 
would  receive  applicants.  Wishing  to  learn 
French,  I  attached  myself  to  a  queue,  and 
after  a  wait  of  twenty  minutes  duly  pre- 
sented myself  at  the  desk. 

I  was  received  with  the  stern  official  gaze 
that  seems  to  say,  "  Now  then,  young 
fellow,  I'm  a  hard-worked  man  and  can't 
afford  to  waste  time  on  you.  Let's  get  to 
business  at  once." 

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The  Pitt  League 


"  Name  ?  "— Waugh. 

"  Initials  ?  "—A.  R. 

"  Married  ?  "—No. 

"Single?"— Yes. 

"Children?"— None. 

"  Age  ?  " — Nearly  twenty. 

The  questions  followed  each  other  with 
the  rapidity  of  machine-gun  bullets.  These 
preliminaries  over,  he  looked  up  at  me  with 
the  benevolent  Fairy  Godfather  expression  of, 
"  Now,  young  fellow,  I'm  doing  my  best,  I 
want  to  help  you,  but  you  must  meet  me 
half-way." 

"  Now,"  he  said  kindly,  "  what  work  did 
you  do  before  the  war  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  I  answered  truthfully;  "  I 
was  at  school." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
going  to  do  when  you  get  back?  " 

"  Oh,  something  to  do  with  books,"  I 
hazarded. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Book-keeping.     Then  I  suppose 
that  what  you  want  is  a  really  sound  com- 
mercial education  ?  " 
F  65 


The  Prisoners   of  Mainz 

And  he  was  about  to  jot  down  "  Com- 
merce "  when  I  pointed  out  that  what  I 
really  wanted  to  do  was  not  to  keep  books, 
but  to  write  them.. 

"  Journalism  ?  Then  why  couldn't  you 
say  so  at  once,"  and  he  returned  to  the 
official  "  Busyman  "  attitude. 

Finally  we  reached  the  stage  to  which 
this  examination  had  led. 

"  Now,  then,  what  classes  do  you  think 
of  taking  up  ?  " 

"  French." 

He  looked  at  me,  doubtfully  avuncular. 

"  You  know,  I  don't  know  whether  French 
will  be  much  use  to  you.  Is  that  all  you 
are  taking  up  ?  Because,  of  course,  French 
is  very  amusing,  but  from  a  commercial 
point  of  view  really  I  should  advise  short- 
hand. No  ?  well,  then,  I  must  just  put 
you  do^\'n  for  French.  Some  notices  will 
come  round  about  the  classes." 

And  he  began  his  inquisition  of  my  suc- 
cessor. Really,  considering  that  to  be  en- 
tered in  a  French  class  was  the  whole  object 

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The   Pitt  League 

of  my  visit,  the  interview  was  sufficiently 
prolix,  but  the  fellow  enjoyed  doing  it. 
That  was  the  great  thing. 

Like  all  innovations,  the  F.C.S.  (as  it 
appeared  on  official  abbreviations)  met  with 
great  support,  numerous  classes  were  formed, 
so  numerous,  in  fact,  were  they  that  there  was 
hardly  enough  room  for  them.  At  all  periods 
of  the  day  students  could  be  observed  hurry- 
ing across  the  court,  a  stool  under  one  arm, 
and  a  pile  of  books  under  the  other.  The 
whole  day  was  mapped  out  into  periods; 
there  was  no  vacant  spot  but  it  had  to  serve 
as  a  classroom;  and  the  attendance  was 
admirable .  Over  a  hundred  officers  attended 
the  first  lecture  of  the  shorthand  expert. 
The  elementary  French  class  was  so  large 
that  it  had  to  be  divided  up  into  three. 

Great  trade  flourished  then  in  the  Kan- 
tine,  Otto's  Grammars  were  at  a  premium. 
They  were  hoarded  deliberately.  One  enter- 
prising linguist  went  so  far  as  to  amass 
within  the  space  of  a  week,   grammars  of 

67 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Spanish,   French,    German,    Italian,   Arabic 
and  Hindustani,  together  with  their  keys. 

It  did  not  last  long  :  within  a  week  the 
numbers  were  diminished  by  a  half;  they 
then  sank  to  a  quarter,  then  an  eighth. 
Within  a  month  no  class  numbered  more 
than  half  a  dozen,  which  was  just  as  well, 
for  really  people  do  not  want  to  be  taught 
things.  Educational  experts  who'  spend 
years  working  out  theories  do  not  make  a 
sufficient  point  of  this.  It  is  not  enough  to 
form  a  system,  and  expect  the  world  to  fit 
into  it.  Only  a  very  few  desire  knowledge, 
and  those  few  should  be  catered  for.  They 
will  profit  by  instruction.  But  those  who 
are  taught  things  against  their  will,  speedily 
forget  whatever  they  have  learnt.  There 
are,  it  is  true,  those  men  who  can  inspire  a 
love  of  work,  who  can  produce  results  from 
any  material,  but  they  are  not  school- 
masters. There  is  rarely  more  than  one  in 
each  school.  For  the  profession  presents 
insufficient  attractions  to  the  really  brilliant 
man,  with  the  result  that  schoolmasters  are 

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The  Pitt  League 

drawn  from  the  ranks  of  mediocrity ;  and  as 
long  as  this  state  of  things  continues,  all  that 
the  average  schoolmaster  can  hope  to  do  is  to 
keep  the  lazy  in  order,  and  impart  his  know- 
ledge to  those  who  want  to  learn.  For  the 
masses  education  can  only  mean  information, 
and  information  by  itself  has  little  value. 

And  so  within  a  month  the  educational 
life  of  the  camp  had  assumed  modest  limits ; 
but,  as  those  who  remained  were  genuinely 
keen,  the  classes  became  infinitely  more 
efficacious.  Conversational  French,  for  in- 
stance, was  possible  as  it  would  never  have 
been  in  a  gathering  of  thirty.  For  the 
enthusiasts  the  decreased  nimabers  were  in 
every  way  advantageous,  but  it  gave  no 
pleasure  to  Colonel  Westcott. 

Colonel  Westcott  was  one  of  those  de- 
lightful persons  whom  captivity  had  turned 
into  a  burlesque.  He  was  as  extravagant 
as  a  character  out  of  Dickens,  and  it  was 
hard  to  believe  in  his  reality.  He  was  so 
exactly  the  type  of  army  officer  that  is  cari- 
catured on  the  music-hall  stage.     He  had 

69 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

all  the  foibles  and  loyalties  of  his  caste.  He 
believed  fearlessly  in  discipline,  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race,  in  an  Utopia  made  not  with 
hands  but  with  muskets. 

In  the  time  when  his  enthusiasms  had 
been  kept  in  control  by  the  business  of  war, 
he  had  been  an  excellent  soldier;  but  once 
captiu-ed,  he  had  no  outlet  for  his  tempera- 
ment. Looking  down  on  the  court  from 
the  window  of  his  room,  he  was  horrified 
at  the  thought  of  so  many  subalterns  passing 
out  of  his  hands,  out  of  the  hands  of  dis- 
cipline back  into  the  individual  energies  of 
civilian  life.  And  Colonel  Westcott  hated 
individualism  :  he  liked  to  see  humanity 
moving  forward  in  one  compact  body,  with 
himself  at  its  head.  He  loathed,  and  was 
frightened  by,  the  small  bodies  that  went 
their  own  way  and  in  their  own  time.  Dur- 
ing the  four  years  of  war  nothing  had  given 
him  more  pleasure  than  to  watch  the  slow 
conscription  of  England.  In  it  he  saw  unity 
and  safety.  He  was  with  the  majority  and 
was  therefore  safe. 

70 


The   Pitt  League 

But  now  all  those  good  things  were 
ending.  He  saw  the  splitting  up  of  all  this 
common  impulse  into  countless  cliques,  with 
interests  not  his  own;  and  he  felt  that  he 
must  make  one  effort  before  the  close.  For 
Colonel  Westcott  was  a  brave  man.  He 
would  sell  everything  for  the  comfort  and 
assuagement  of  his  soul.  And  so  he  founded 
the  Pitt  League. 

As  an  essay  in  the  floating  of  a  bogus 
company,  it  was  a  notable  achievement. 
Never  was  such  a  web  of  words  woven 
round  such  a  dummy.  Not  that  the  Colonel 
spake  one  word  that  he  did  not  believe.  He 
was  impeccably  honest.  He  really  valued 
the  goods  that  he  extolled. 

One  evening  in  the  theatre  he  laid  his 
wares  before  us.  With  an  unconscious  skill, 
he  began  by  an  appeal  to  the  vanity  and 
the  emotions  of  his  hearers. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  told 
by  one  of  the  padres  that  in  the  lesson  for 
March  21st,  the  day  on  which  most  of  us  were 
captured,  occurs  the  text,  '  Be  thou  a  ruler 

71 


The   Prisoners  of  Mainz 

even  in  the  midst  among  thine  enemies.' 
That,  gentlemen,  is  what  I  want  to  say  to 
you  to-night.  Be  rulers,  I  will  tell  you 
how." 

The  prospect  of  gaining  the  mastery  over 
the  generous  supply  of  armed  sentries  was 
alluring.  There  was  an  instant  and  imani- 
mous  attention. 

"  We  can  only  do  it  in  one  way,  gentle- 
men, and  that  is  by  combination.  We  must 
all  work  together,  we  must  work  not  towards 
individual  prosperity,  but  towards  the  pros- 
perity of  the  commimity.  No  longer  can 
we  fight  our  enemies  in  the  field,  but  we 
can  wage  a  silent  war,  we  can  prepare  our- 
selves so  that  afterwards  we  may  be  trium- 
phant. We  must  work  collectively:  we  must 
unite:  the  life  of  this  camp  should  be  like 
one  machine,  in  which  you  are  all  cogs. 
And  so,  gentlemen,  I  have  brought  forward 
my  scheme.  I  have  called  it  the  Pitt  League, 
because,  well,  gentlemen,  because  it  rhymes 
with  grit  J  ^ 

And  then  followed  an  exposition  worthy 
72 


The  Pitt  League 

of  the  great  Tartarin.  But  even  the  hero  of 
Tarascon  can  hardly  have  brought  to  play 
in  the  account  of  his  visionary  Saharas  such 
a  fancy,  such  an  overwhelming  unreason, 
such  a  complete  contempt  for  the  bounds  of 
probability.  Slowly  idea  followed  on  idea, 
slowly  the  colossal  fabric  was  raised.  That 
Colonel  Westcott  was  a  caricature  must 
always  be  kept  in  mind ;  but  even  so  I  think 
the  excitement  of  the  moment  must  have 
caught  him  up.  Even  he  could  not  in  cold 
blood  have  conceived  such  fabulous  creations. 
The  scheme  began  by  amalgamating  The 
Future  Career  Society;  and  starting  at  the 
point  where  that  society  had  wisely  halted, 
proceeded  to  include  every  department  of 
Imperial  life.  Committees  would  be  formed ; 
debates  and  lectures  arranged.  A  research 
committee  would  be  able  to  provide  informa- 
tion on  any  subject ;  a  trade  and  commerce 
department  would  provide  a  comprehensive 
study  of  the  growth  of  trade  and  of  Colonial 
expansion.  It  would  work  out  every  problem 
of  navigation,    and    every  fine    question    of 

73 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

markets,  their  rise  and  fall.  A  department 
for  home  affairs  would  provide  recipes  by 
which  thirty  million  people  could  live  with- 
out competition.  Divorce,  Politics,  Educa- 
tion, State  control  of  vice,  small  holdings, 
all  these  would  be  settled.  And  then  the 
Dominions,  each  Colony  would  have  its  own 
department,  where  Colonials  would  decide  on 
how  best  they  could  further  the  Imperial 
ideals.  Then  there  was  the  regular  soldier 
side,  the  Imperial  Force  branch.  And  here 
perhaps  the  Colonel's  fancy  flew  farthest  and 
highest,  military  strategy  would  be  dealt 
with  from  primeval  time.  Sand -maps  on  the 
floor  would  show  the  site  of  battle-fields 
and  the  dispositions  of  the  rival  armies; 
tactics  would  be  exhaustively  discussed.  A 
new  and  infallible  method  of  attack  would 
be  evolved  for  the  next  war. 

And  all  these  activities  would  be  accom- 
plished, in  spite  of  the  fact  that  no  one  in 
the  camp  possessed  the  least  information 
on  any  of  these  points ;  and  that  as  a  remedy 
for    their    defect    there    existed    neither    a 

74 


The  Pitt  League 


reference  library  nor  the  likelihood  of  ob- 
taining one.  But  by  this  Colonel  Westcott 
was  nothing  daunted.  Perhaps  at  the  back 
of  his  mind  there  was  the  unconscious 
knowledge  that  the  end  is  nothing,  the  means 
all,  "  and  that  to  move  is  somewhat  although 
the  goal  be  far." 

"  And  when  we  go  back  to  England,"  he 
concluded,  "  you  will  be  able  to  effect  the 
reforms  you  have  thought  out  here.  You 
will  go  back  with  a  collective  and  not  an 
individual  patriotism.  You  will  be  capable 
of  really  efficient  citizenship.  We  shall  still 
be  able  to  move  forward  as  one  body.  That 
is  the  Pitt  League,  gentlemen." 

And  then  followed  the  sentence  for  which 
he  deserves  immortality. 

"  It's  my  scheme  and  I  like  it.  I  know 
you'll  like  it  too." 

He  had  out- tartar ined  Tartarin.  Cari- 
cature in  one  human  frame  could  go  no 
further. 


75 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

§2 
The  Pitt  League  fared  as  might  have  been 
expected.  It  was  born  and  christened  amid 
much  enthusiasm.  The  whole  camp  found 
itself  enrolled  under  some  branch  or  other, 
elaborate  programmes  were  devised.  The 
walls  of  the  theatre  were  covered  with 
notices.  Every  Wednesday  the  heads  of 
each  branch  met  in  what  was  called  the 
Parliament  of  the  Pitt  League,  of  which 
Colonel  Westcott  was  Prime  Minister.  This 
gave  the  required  semblance  of  unity  and 
collective  patriotism.  A  few  field  officers 
and  senior  captains  found  that  a  certain 
amount  of  work  had  devolved  upon  their 
shoulders,  but  the  life  of  the  average  sub- 
altern continued  undisturbed.  In  practice 
no  one  is  a  collectivist,  unless  it  is  likely  to 
prove  to  his  advantage.  No  one  wants  to 
be  a  cog  in  any  machine  that  does  not 
produce  tangible  results;  and  though  the 
camp  gave  the  Pitt  League  its  sympathy 
and  encouragement,  it  did  not  see  its  way 

76 


The  Pitt  League 

to  further  any  interests  not  its  own.  The 
Colonel,  however,  was  quite  content  with  his 
work.  He  was  Prime  Minister  of  his  own 
Parliament,  and  everywhere  his  eyes  were 
confronted  with  tabulated  evidence  of  his 
enterprise. 

"  A  very  different  camp,"  he  would  say 
to  himself.  ''  There  is  now  a  purpose  and 
an  end  ...  a  thorough  change  of  attitude, 
and,"  he  would  proudly  add,  "it  is  all  my 
doing." 

From  this  energy,  however,  there  did 
spring  two  incidental  results:  one  touched 
me  personally,  the  other  only  in  as  far  as  I 
was  a  member  of  the  general  community. 
The  former  was  that  I  discovered  my  name 
on  the  syllabus  of  the  Home  Affairs  branch 
as  a  future  lecturer  on  Social  Reform,  a 
privilege  which  was  deferred  weekly  with 
considerable  ingenuity  until  the  signing  of 
the  Armistice  absolved  me  from  my  promise ; 
the  other  was  the  inauguration  of  the 
Priority  Pass. 

For  it  is  one  of  the  traits  in  human  nature 
77 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

that  no  sooner  does  a  man  begin  to  do  any 
work   for    which    he    is    not    paid    than    he 
demands    recognition    of    some    sort.      He 
wants   to   be   differentiated   from  the   rest. 
The  man  who  has  served  twelve  months  as 
an   A.S.C.    batman   clamours   for   an   extra 
chevron.     Why  should  he  be  ranked  on  the 
same  level  as  the  infantryman  who  has  only 
been  in  the  line  thirteen  weeks.     The  officer 
who  censored  letters  at  the  Base  in  the  first 
October  of  the  war  demands  a  riband  to 
show  he  is  not  one  of  those  mere  conscripts 
who  only  landed  in  1915.     They  are  working 
of  course   not   '*  for  glory   or  for  honour." 
Their  service  is  perfectly  disinterested,   all 
they  want  is  to  be  of  help  to  the  nation. 
But  still,   they  do  think,  that  in  common 
justice  some   sort   of    difference   should   be 
made,  some  privilege  perhaps  .... 

And  it  was  so  with  the  officials  of  the  Pitt 
League.  They  all  maintained  that  it  was 
their  greatest  delight  to  be  of  service  to  the 
camp,  that  they  were  collectivists  of  the 
truest  and  most  practical  kind.     Yet  they 

78 


The  Pitt  League 

were  only  human,  and  when  they  saw  lazy 
officers  reaping  where  they  had  themselves 
sown,  the  wedge  of  justice  slipped  itself 
beneath  the  barrier  of  their  altruism.  The 
elemental  idea  of  "  mine  and  thine  "  once 
firmly  planted,  strengthened  and  took  root. 
They  felt  the  need  of  recompense. 

For  some  time  they  were  in  doubt  as  to 
the  dress  in  which  public  gratitude  should 
be  arrayed.  But  at  last  the  shorthand 
expert  was  gifted  with  an  inspiration. 
Triumphantly  he  bore  his  commodity  to 
the  premier. 

"  Sir,  couldn't  we  have  precedence  in 
queues?  " 

"Precedence,  Wilkins?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  we  have  such  a  lot  to  do,  that 
really  we  have  not  time  to  waste  half  the 
morning  in  queues.  Couldn't  we  have  a 
pass  or  something  so  that  we  could  go 
straight  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  admirable,  Wilkins,  admirable. 
A  Priority  Pass,  the  very  thing." 

And  so  the  abuse  of  privilege  began. 
79 


The   Prisoners   of  Mainz 

The  camp,  not  realising  what  it  would 
lead  to,  received  this  news  with  equanimity. 

"  Quite  right  too,"  was  the  general  opinion. 
"  These  fellows  do  a  lot  of  work.  They  have 
not  got  too  much  spare  time." 

Within  a  day  or  two  the  opinion  changed. 
For  holders  of  passes  always  used  them  at 
the  same  time,  that  is,  when  it  was  most 
inconvenient  to  the  rest  of  the  queue.  For 
the  chief  joy  of  a  privilege  lies  in  the 
flaunting  of  it  before  the  eyes  of  the  less 
fortunate.  There  were  low  murmurs  of 
resentment. 

Two  afternoons  later  I  met  Stone  in  the 
last  stage  of  exasperation.  After  a  stream 
of  abuse,  the  ''  sad  accidents  of  his  tragedy  " 
became  clear. 

It  was  a  wet,  windy  afternoon,  and  Stone 
had  been  waiting  in  the  "  cheque  "  queue 
for  over  an  hour.  He  was  heartily  sick  of 
it,  but  had  been  particularly  anxious  to  draw 
his  money  before  roll-call,  having  booked  the 
billiard  -  table  for  immediately  afterwards. 
And  it  had  really  looked  as  though  he  would 

80 


The  Pitt  League 

be  just  in  time.  Five  more  mimites,  and  he 
was  fourth  in  the  queue;  a  minute  a  man. 
It  should  have  worked  out  all  right. 

Slowly  the  queue  had  moved  forwards. 
Too  slowly  for  Stone.  There  had  been  a 
delay  of  almost  two  minutes,  because  some 
ass  had  not  been  able  to  remember  the 
amount  of  his  cheque.  Numerous  sheets  had 
to  be  turned  over.     It  was  ''  a  bit  thick." 

But  at  last  the  three  men  in  front  of  him 
had  been  disposed  of.  With  a  minute  to 
spare,  he  had  just  been  about  to  walk  into 
the  office,  when  a  voice  had  bawled,  "  Half 
a  minute,"  and  a  diminutive  captain  had 
rushed  up  panting. 

"  Just  in  time." 

"  Afraid  you  won't  get  in  before  roll-call," 
Stone  had  said,  sunning  himself  in  his 
serenity. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  I've  got  a  Priority 
Pass." 

"A  what?" 

"  A  Priority  Pass." 

"But  what  for?" 
G  81 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  Botany.  Ah,  there's  that  fellow  coming 
out.     My  turn,  cheerioh." 

And  thirty  seconds  later  the  bell  had  gone 
for  roll-call. 

"  It's  the  limit,"  said  Stone,  "  the  absolute 
limit,  and  do  you  know  what  that  absurd 
botany  ass  does,  two  hours  a  week,  that's  all. 
Damn  it  all,  and  then  he  can  just  saunter 
into  a  queue  whenever  he  likes.  I've  a  jolly 
good  mind  to  get  a  Priority  Pass  myself,  it's 
quite  easy,  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  invent 
a  language  that  no  one  else  is  likely  to  know. 
Finnish,  say,  and  old  Westcott  would  be 
only  too  bucked  to  have  another  branch  to 
his  '  Up  dogs  and  at  'em  '  League." 

To  invent  a  language. 

The  idea  ran  through  my  mind,  a  glimmer- 
ing thread  of  thought.  What  was  it  George 
Moore  had  said  ?  A  new  tongue  was  needed. 
The  day  of  the  English  language  was  over. 
It  had  passed  through  so  many  hands,  been 
filtered  in  so  many  places,  that  it  was  now 
colourless  and  without  significance.  But 
this  new  tongue,  this  child  that  was  waiting 

82 


The  Pitt  League 

to  be  cradled ;  it  was  a  lyre  from  which  any 
rhythm  might  be  struck ;  it  was  virgin  soil 
that  would  bear  epic  upon  epic,  masterpiece 
on  masterpiece;  and  it  would  be  so  simple, 
so  childishly  simple.  All  that  was  needed 
was  the  purchase  of  an  Otto-Sauer  conversa- 
tion grammar  which  we  could  translate  into 
Finnish.  No  one  would  be  any  the  wiser. 
Colonel  Westcott  could  be  taken  in  quite 
easily. 

I  began  to  picture  the  scene. 

Stone  and  I  would  go  to  him  one  evening, 
when  there  had  been  potatoes  for  supper. 
We  should  find  him  well  filled  and  satisfied, 
puffing  contentedly  at  a  cigar,  and  musing 
sentimentally  over  an  ideal  world  peopled 
with  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  bred  on  collec- 
tivism and  eugenics. 

He  would  greet  us  with  a  kindly  patron- 
ising smile. 

"  Well,  Stone.  Yes,  and  let  me  see,  who 
isit,  Waugh.     Well?" 

"  Well,  Sir,  the  fact  is  that  Stone  and  my- 
self have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  lately 

83 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

about  our  duties  as  citizens.  We  were 
wondering  whether  we  were  really  doing  all 
we  could.  It's  such  a  splendid  opportunity 
here,  Sir.  We  could  lay  the  foundations  of 
so  much." 

"  Certainly,  Waugh,  certainly,  an  admir- 
able thought." 

"  And,  Sir,  we  were  wondering  whether 
you  had  ever  considered  the  possibilities  of 
Finland,  Sir." 

"  Finland,  Waugh." 

"  Yes,  Sir.  I  believe  it's  the  coming  centre 
of  the  herring  trade,  and  I'm  sure  if  some  of 
these  fellows  here  realised  it,  they  would  be 
only  too  keen  to  try  their  luck  there,  and  it 
would  be  a  great  thing  for  the  Empire,  Sir, 
if  we  could  collar  the  herring  trade." 

And  Colonel  Westcott,  whose  ideals  of 
citizenship  were  more  surely  laid  than  his 
knowledge  of  commerce,  would  not  be  able 
to  withhold  a  grunt  of  assent. 

"  But,  Sir,"  I  should  go  on,  "  the  fact  is 
that  in  order  to  trade  with  the  Finns  one 
must  be  able  to  speak  their  language,  and 

84 


The  Pitt  League 

you  see,  Sir,  it's  the  only  language  they've 
got,  and  they're  very  sensitive  about  it." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  very  natural,  very 
natural  indeed." 

"  And,  Sir,  Stone  and  I,  well,  I've  lived 
there  a  good  deal,  and  so  has  Stone,  and  we 
thought.  Sir,  it  might  be  a  good  thing  to  start 
a  Finnish  class." 

"  Admirable,  Waugh,  of  course,  if  you 
think  you  can  do  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  we  could,  Sir,"  I  should 
explain.  "  As  I  said  to  Stone, '  we  owe  a  duty 
to  the  State  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  and  it 
would  be  very  selfish  if  we  went  to  Finland 
alone.'  It's  our  duty  as  citizens.  Sir,  to 
think,  not  in  terms  of  the  individual,  but  of 
the  community." 

Almost  an  echo  of  the  Colonel's  own 
sentiments  as  expressed  in  his  most  recent 
jeremiad.  How  benignly  he  would  beam 
on  us,  how  he  would  recognise  in  us  the 
objectification  of  his  ideal. 

"  I'm  very  glad,  very  gratified  indeed  that 
you  should  feel  like  that,"  he  would  have 

85 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

said.  "  It's  the  right  spirit,  the  sooner  you 
start  the  class  the  better." 

We  should  have  risen  to  go,  but  at  the 
door  we  should  have  turned  back. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you  again,  Sir,"  I 
should  say,  "  but  there  is  just  one  little 
point.  It'll  mean  a  great  deal  of  work  for 
Stone  and  myself.  We  shall  have  no 
grammar  or  anything." 

"  Of  course,  Waugh,  I  can  quite  see  that." 

"  And  there's  very  little  spare  time  with 
these  queues  and  things." 

"  Oh,  but  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to 
manage  that,"  Colonel  Westcott  would  say. 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  both  be 
given  Priority  Passes.  It's  a  very  unselfish 
work,  I'll  see  about  it.  I  think  it'll  be  all 
right." 

And  within  two  days  our  names  would 
appear  on  the  already  lengthening  list  of 
privileged  persons. 

And  then  what  would  happen?  The 
Finnish  class  would  follow  the  course  of  all 
our   studies   in   the  Offiziergefangenenlager, 

86 


The  Pitt  League 

Mainz.  Upwards  of  thirty  would  attend 
the  initial  lecture.  Within  a  week  this 
number  would  have  sunken  within  the  teens, 
from  which  it  would  gradually  recede  to  the 
comfortable  proportions  of  five  or  six.  For 
these  few  enthusiasts  we  should  cater,  and 
for  their  righteousness,  as  aforetime  for 
Gomorrah's,  would  be  issued  the  divine  dis- 
pensation— a  yellow  ticket. 

And  what  a  language  it  would  be.  With 
what  fancy  would  the  common  articulation 
of  the  everyday  world  be  passed  into  an 
aesthetic  mould.  How  arbitrary  would  be 
the  rules  of  taste,  what  a  harmonious  blend- 
ing of  sibilants  and  liquids.  How  George 
Moore  would  glory  in  our  creation. 

And  then  I  supposed  we  should  begin  to 
tire  of  our  toy ;  the  novelty  would  wear  off ; 
the  lyric  impulse  would  be  lost.  It  would 
degenerate  into  hackwork.  And  then  we 
should  try  to  get  rid  of  it;  with  a  sort  of 
false  sentimentality  we  should  muse  over 
the  pleasant  hours  we  had  spent  with  it,  and 
wonder  if  the  affection  had  been  returned, 

8T 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

almost  as  the  hero  of  a  French  novel  sighs 
over  a  discarded  mistress. 

Then,  of  course,  there  would  be  Colonel 
Westcott.  We  should  not  wish  to  disillusion 
him,  to  show  ourselves  as  we  really  were. 
We  should  wish  to  maintain  the  deception 
to  its  end.  His  opinion  of  us  would  be  very 
high. 

We  should  present  ourselves  to  him 
apologetically,  as  men  for  whom  the  burden 
of  reforming  mankind  had  grown  too  heavy. 
We  should  give  the  Colonel  the  impression 
that  he  and  we  were  pioneers  in  advance  of 
our  age,  stationed  at  the  outposts  of  progress ; 
that  where  we  stood  to-day,  the  world  would 
stand  to-morrow.   But  in  the  meantime  .... 

"  You  see.  Sir,"  I  should  say,  "  there  are 
only  four  fellows  learning  Finnish,  and  none 
of  them,  if  I  may  say  so,  seem  to  me  the 
sort  of  fellows  we  really  want.  They're  more 
of  the  class  of  chap  who  learns  a  language 
merely  to  be  able  to  say  he  knows  it,  and 
really.  Sir,  I  don't  know  if  it's  worth  our 
while  to  spend  so  much  time  on  them.     You 

88 


The  Pitt  League 

were  talking  the  other  day  about  conserva- 
tion of  energy,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  would  bend  confidingly.  So 
far  this  catchword  had  not  suggested  itself 
to  him.  But  it  was  surely  only  a  matter  of 
time. 

"  And,"  I  should  continue,  "  we  thought 
we'd  be  really  doing  better  if  we  were  to 
learn  a  language  ourselves.  Stone  thought 
the  same,  Sir,  but  he  said,  '  We  must  ask 
Colonel  Westcott  first.'  " 

"  Ah,  quite  right,  quite  right,  it's  no  use 
wasting  our  forces.  If  fellows  won't  back 
you  up,  well,  it's  their  fault,  not  yours. 
You've  done  your  best." 

And  doubtless  in  that  moment  the 
Colonel's  thoughts  would  be  flying  forward 
tentatively  to  the  grey  days  of  demobilisa- 
tion, to  the  sundering  of  the  one  river  into 
its  many  streams.  And  he  could  see  himself 
standing  there  at  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
his  averted  eyes  turned  back  to  the  pleasant 
pastures,  to  the  unity  and  harmony  of  war. 
He  could  see  himself  as  the  last  relic  of  a 

89 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

more  golden  era,  of  a  cleaner  if  not  more 
clever  world. 

"  And  you  really  think,  Sir,  that  we  have 
done  our  best?  " 

"  No  doubt  about  that,  oh,  none  at  all,"  he 
would  sigh.  "  I  only  wish  we  had  a  few  more 
like  you  in  the  camp.     It's  the  right  spirit." 

And  we  should  acknowledge  the  pane- 
gyric with  a  smile,  and  leave  him  to  his 
dreams  and  aspirations,  his  Pan-Saxon 
Utopia. 

But  it  could  not  be  done.  In  actuality 
the  scheme  would  lose  its  glamour,  its 
wayward  charm.  It  was  better  to  let  it 
remain  in  the  imagination,  the  fresh  counter- 
part of  some  less  noble  phenomenon.  Aimez 
ce  que  jamais  on  ne  verra  pas  deux  fois. 


90 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    GERMAN   ATTITUDE 

During  those  early  days  the  chief  interest 
of  our  Hfe  lay  in  the  insight  it  gave  into  the 
conditions  and  psychology  of  the  German 
people.  For  nearly  four  years  we  had  been 
at  war  with  this  nation,  and  yet  we  knew 
practically  nothing  about  it.  For  four  years 
an  iron  screen  had  been  drawn  between  us  and 
them.  All  the  information  that  we  received 
came  to  us  through  the  filtering  places  of 
many  censorships.  We  were  told  only 
what  the  authorities  wished  us  to  be  told; 
and  of  the  countless  activities  of  Germany, 
report  reached  us  of  none  that  could  bring 
credit  to  any  nation  but  our  own.  But  now 
we  were  able  to  converse  freely  with  German 
officers  and  soldiers,  and  form  our  own 
opinion  as  to  their  attitude  towards  us. 

Of  course  this  opinion  is  subject  to  number- 
less qualifications.     Even  from  the  highest 

91 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

window  of  the  citadel  only  a  limited  view 
can  be  obtained  of  a  country  that  has  been 
the  subject  of  so  much  calumny  and  con- 
jecture. Our  impressions  were  confined  to 
one  province  and  one  town  in  that  province  ; 
they  cannot  be  said  to  represent  the  men- 
tality of  Germany  as  a  whole;  and  of  the 
five  hundred  officers  confined  within  the 
barracks,  each  individual  has  brought  home 
with  him  a  different  idea  of  Germany  and 
the  Germans. 

And  again,  it  may  be  that  personally  I 
have  been  rather  fortunate  in  my  experiences. 
Baden-Hessen  is  one  of  the  least  Prussianised 
Provinces  in  Germany,  and  officer  prisoners 
of  war  are  treated  a  great  deal  better  than 
the  men.  But  I  do  believe  that  the  con- 
versations I  had  with  various  Germans,  both 
soldiers  and  civilians,  give  a  fairly  accurate 
index  to  the  attitude  of  a  large  number  of 
the  enemy. 

What  came  as  the  greatest  surprise  to  me 
personally  was  the  absence,  to  a  consider- 
able extent,  of  all  vindictiveness  and  hate. 

92 


The  German  Attitude 

Evidence  goes  to  prove  that  there  was  in  the 
early  months   of  the   war  a  good   deal   of 
collective  hate ;  and  as  a  relic  of  this  there 
werq  in  the  shops  picture  postcards  of  sinking 
battleships  headed  "  Gott  strafe  England," 
and  the  cartoons  in  the  illustrated  papers 
such     as    SimpUcissimus    and    the    Lustige 
Blatter  were  all  to  the  tune  of  "  my  baton 
drips    with    blood."     But    the    Frankfurter 
Zeitung,  which  is  the  representative  paper 
of  that  part  of  the  country,  was  absolutely 
free    from    articles    headed    "  The    English 
Beast "  or  "  The  Devilish  Briton."  It  afforded 
an  ideal  example  of  journalistic  continence. 
And  it  was  the  same  with  their  poetry 
and  literature.     There  was  much  verse  in- 
spired by  the  same  violence  as  "  The  Hymn 
of  Hate."     There  were  numberless  sonnets 
starting  off,  "  England,  du  perfides  land,"  and 
it  is  only  this  sort  of  stuff  that  we  have  been 
allowed  to  read  in  England.     This   is   the 
standard  by  which  the  Germans  have  been 
judged,  and  it  presents  them  in  a  very  false 
light.     For  after  all,  if  the   "  hate  "   verse 

93 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

that  is  scattered  throughout  the  English 
Press  were  to  be  taken  as  representative  of 
the  ideals  and  the  aspirations  of  the  race, 
we  should  show  up  none  too  well.  For 
with  the  majority,  no  sooner  does  a  man  try 
to  put  his  thoughts  into  words,  than  he  loses 
his  bearings.  He  does  not  write  what  he 
feels,  but  what  he  thinks  he  should  feel. 
All  that  is  genuine  in  him  is  inarticulate, 
and  the  obvious  rises  to  the  surface.  And 
it  has  followed  that  in  the  last  four  years 
there  has  been  an  incredible  quantity  of  bad 
verse  written  and  very  little  good.  But 
that  little  good  is  the  key  to  the  English 
temperament.  The  secret  longings  of  the 
individual  have  been  revealed  not  in  the 
type  of  poem  that  goes — 

•  "  We  mean  to  thrash  these  Prussian  Pups, 

We'll  bag  their  ships,  we'll  smash  old  Krupps, 
We  loathe  them  all,  the  dirty  swine, 
We'll  drown  the  whole  lot  in  the  Rhine." 

They  have  found  their  expression  in  the 
deep  and  sincere  emotion  of  such  poems  as 
'*Not    Dead,"    by    Robert    Graves,    J.    C. 

94> 


The  German  Attitude 

Squire's  '*  The  Bulldog,"  Robert  Nichols's 
*'  Fulfilment,"  and  Siegfried  Sassoon's  "  In 
the  Pink." 

And  working  from  this  basis,  it  is  surely- 
more  just  to  judge  Germany  less  by  the 
cheap  vehemence  of  Lissauer  than  by  those 
quiet  poems  that,  hidden  away  among  pages 
of  opprobrium  and  rhetoric,  enshrine  far 
more  truthfully  those  emotions  that  have 
lingered  in  the  heart  of  the  suffering  indi- 
vidual from  the  very  beginning  of  time. 

There  is  a  poem  on  a  captured  trench  that 
opens  with  a  brief  word-picture  of  the  scene, 
the  squalor,  the  battered  parapet,  the  dead 
men.  "  Over  this  trench,"  the  poet  con- 
tinues— 

*'  Over  this  trench  will  soon  be  shed  a  mother's  tears. 
Pain  is  pain  always, 

And  courage  is  true  wheresoever  it  may  be  found. 
And  in  the  hearts  of  our  enemy  were  both  these 

things.  .  .   . 
That  we  must  not  forget ; 
Germany  must  love  even  with  the  sword  that  kills." 

That  sentiment  is  universal,  it  contains  the 
complete  tragedy  of  conquest. 

95 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

And  indeed  for  the  individual  soldier  war 
is  the  same  under  whatever  standard  he 
may  fight.  German  militarism  may  have 
been  the  aggressive  factor,  but  the  individual 
did  not  know  it.  Unless  a  people  feels  its 
cause  to  be  just,  it  will  not  enter  into  the 
lists.  If  it  is  the  aggressor,  then  that  people 
must  be  hoodwinked.  The  victory  lust  of  1914 
was  a  collective  emotion  springing  from  the 
German  temperament  and  from  their  belief 
that  they  were  in  the  right.  The  individual 
soldier  went  to  battle  with  feelings  not  too 
far  removed  from  our  own. 

"  The  war  was  a  crusade  to  us  then,"  a 
German  professor  said  to  me;  "we  felt  that 
France  and  Russia  had  been  steadily  pre- 
paring war  for  years.  We  felt  that  they 
were  only  awaiting  an  opportunity.  The 
Russians  mobilised  long  before  we  did.  They 
drove  us  to  it." 

It  was  in  that  spirit,  he  told  me,  that  the  Ger- 
man volunteer  armed  himself  in  August  1914. 
"  But  of  course,"  he  said,  "  it  didn't  last 
long.     The  glamour  went  soon  enough.     And 

96 


The  German  Attitude 

now,  well,  all  we  want  is  that  the  war  should 
cease." 

And  in  the  spring  of  1918  the  individual 
outlook  in  many  ways  resembled  that  of 
France  and  England.  There  was  the  same 
talk  of  profiteers,  of  the  men  who  dreaded 
the  cessation  of  hostilities,  of  the  ministers 
who  were  clinging  to  office.  There  was  the 
old  talk  of  those  who  had  not  suffered  in 
the  war.  It  was  all  very  well  for  the  rich, 
they  could  buy  butter,  they  did  not  have 
to  starve.  They  managed  to  find  soft  jobs 
behind  the  lines.  They  did  not  want  the 
war  to  stop.  Indeed,  the  resentment  against 
the  "  shirkers  "  and  "  profiteers  "  was  more 
acute  than  the  hatred  of  the  Allies.  For 
after  all,  emotions  like  love  and  hate  are 
not  collective.  One  can  only  hate  the  thing 
one  knows. 

And  from  conversations  with  this  German 
professor  emerged  the  spiritual  odyssey  of 
his  nation.  The  change  from  enthusiasm 
came  apparently  very  quickly;  probably 
because  the  Alliance  suffered  so  heavily  in 
H  97 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

loss  of  life,  and  because  its  internal  troubles 
were  so  great.  The  war  weariness  had  not 
taken  long  to  settle;  for  many  months 
peace  had  seemed  the  only  desirable  end, 
and  victory  in  the  field  was  regarded  as 
important  only  in  as  far  as  it  appeared  the 
safest  road  to  this  goal.  Victory  qua  victory 
they  no  longer  desired. 

This  the  Imperialists  and  pan- Germans 
must  have  realised,  and  they  had  made  it 
their  business  to  persuade  their  people  that 
without  victory  peace  was  impossible.  A 
significant  illustration  of  this  is  afforded  by 
the  change  of  catchword,  as  displayed  on 
public  notices.  Below  some  of  the  early 
photographs  of  the  Crown  Prince  was  printed 
"  Durch  Kampf  zum  Sieg  "  —  "  Through 
battle  to  victory,"  and  this  represented  the 
early  attitude ;  but  by  the  time  that  we  had 
arrived  in  Germany  this  had  been  changed. 
On  many  of  the  match-boxes  was  a  picture 
of  a  soldier  and  a  munition  worker  shaking 
hands,  and  beneath  was  written,  "  Durch 
Arbeit  zum  Sieg  :  Durch  Sieg  zum  Frieden." 

98 


The  German  Attitude 

This  was  what  the  ImperiaHsts  had  to 
keep  before  the  people  if  they  wished  to 
retain  their  office  and  their  ambitions.  The 
people  were  no  longer  prepared  to  sacrifice 
themselves  for  some  abstract  conception  of 
glory  and  honour.  They  wanted  peace,  and 
as  long  as  their  armies  were  able  to  conquer 
in  the  field  they  were  prepared  to  believe 
that  that  was  the  way  to  peace.  But  if 
their  hopes  proved  unfounded,  they  were  in 
a  state  of  readiness  to  seek  what  they  wanted 
by  other  means. 

It  was  no  longer  "  zum  Sieg  "  but  "  durch 
Sieg";  and  in  view  of  what  has  since 
happened,  I  think,  this  is  an  important  thing 
to  grasp. 


99 


CHAPTER  VII 

PARCELS 
§    1 

Towards  the  middle  of  June  parcels 
began  to  arrive,  and  the  camp  became  a 
very  whispering  gallery  of  rumours.  It 
started  with  a  wire  from  the  Red  Cross  at 
Copenhagen  stating  that  a  consignment  of 
relief  parcels  had  been  dispatched.  From 
that  moment,  there  was  no  incident  of  the 
day  that  was  not  somehow  construed  into  a 
veiled  reference  to  Danish  bread. 

Lieut.  Jones  would  meet  Lieut.  Brown 
on  the  way  to  the  library. 

"  Any  news  this  morning.  Brown?  " 

"  Nothing  official." 

"  Then  what's  the  latest  rumour?  " 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  put  too  much  trust 
in  it,  old  man,"  Brown  would  answer  guard- 

100 


Parcels 

edly,  "  but  I  saw  Colonel  Croft  talking  to  one 
of  the  Unter-officers  this  morning." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  they  were  saying?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lieut.  Brown.  "  You  see,  I 
can't  speak  German,  but  by  the  way  they 
were  gesticulating  and  all  that,  I  feel  pretty 
certain  it  was  about  these  parcels." 

And  within  two  hours  it  was  common 
knowledge  throughout  the  camp  that  the 
Unter-officer  of  Block  II  had  told  Colonel 
Croft  that  there  were  two  hundred  parcels 
within  the  camp. 

As  the  days  passed,  and  no  consignment 
arrived,  conjecture  exceeded  every  bound  of 
possibility.  It  was  asserted  on  the  one 
hand  that  the  parcels  had  been  comman- 
deered on  the  way  by  the  German  army,  and 
on  another  that  the  parcels  had  actually 
arrived  and  were  in  the  camp,  but  that  the 
Commandant  had  refused  to  issue  them  till 
he  had  received  instructions  from  Berlin. 
During  these  days  there  was  no  epithet  with 
which  the  word  Boche  went  uncoupled. 

At  last,  however,  the  parcels  did  arrive ;  a 
101 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

large  cart  was  perceived  entering  the  gate 
laden  with  cardboard  boxes,  and  a  roseate 
mist  enveloped  the  outlook  of  the  Gefangener. 
The  lean  years  were  at  an  end,  prosperity 
was  in  sight,  and  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt 
already  steamed  within  the  imagination. 
"  Bread's  in  the  citadel,  all's  well  with  the 
world." 

But  one  thing  had  been  overlooked.  A 
composition  of  milk  and  flour  is  not  improved 
by  the  delays  of  a  protracted  journey  through 
the  metallic  heats  of  a  German  summer. 
The  bread  was  unbelievably  mouldy. 

Well,  we  tried  to  imagine  that  we  enjoyed 
it,  and  it  was  certainly  something  to  eat; 
we  doctored  it  and  applied  every  remedy 
that  the  ingenuity  of  the  R.A.M.C.  could 
devise;  but  there  are  limits  beyond  which 
redemption  cannot  pass.  There  are  stains 
which  only  dissolution  can  annul,  and  the 
freshness  of  white  bread  once  lost  is  as 
irrecoverable  as  virginity.  Green  it  was, 
and  green  it  remained.  The  taste  of  mould 
was  there  and  baking  would  not  remove  it. 

102 


Parcels 

Perhaps  there  was  some  comfort  in  the 
assurances  of  the  doctor  that,  after  it  had 
been  soaked  and  heated,  it  could  do  no  active 
harm :  but  it  could  not  change  the  nature  of 
the  object.  Sadly  it  was  agreed  that  bread 
was  a  washout. 

However,  it  served  a  moral  if  not  a  physical 
purpose.  It  was  the  prophet  of  the  sunrise, 
the  false  dawn  that  was  the  inevitable 
herald  of  a  readjusted  life.  If  bread  could 
come  from  Copenhagen,  it  followed  that  the 
grocery  parcels  from  London  were  not  so 
immeasurably  remote. 

For  weeks  they  had  appeared  on  the  hori- 
zon far  withdrawn,  invested  with  Utopian 
glamour.  Orderlies  who  had  been  captured 
since  Mons  had  told  us  what  tins  each  parcel 
of  the  cycle  would  contain.  The  list  of 
delicacies  had  been  devoured  by  eager  eyes, 
but  their  existence  had  always  savoured  of 
the  impossible.  They  were  the  dreams  of 
some  incurable  romantic;  there  could^not 
really  be  such  things,  at  least  not  in  Germany. 
But  now  they  actually  began  to  -approach 

103 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

within  mortal  gaze;  after  all,  the  Citadel 
Mainz  was  not  so  utterly  separated  from  the 
rational  world.  The  authorities  in  England 
had  apparently  realised  that  some  six  hun- 
dred officers  were  beleaguered  there  upon 
those  ultimate  islands.  An  agreeable  reflec- 
tion; and,  once  more,  conversation  centred 
wholly  upon  food. 

And  a  more  barren  topic  could  hardly 
be  discovered.  Perhaps  some  romance 
might  be  woven  round  the  intricacies  of  a 
Trimalchio's  banquet,  and  a  distinguished 
novelist  made  one  of  his  characters  woo 
triumphantly  his  beloved  with  a  dazzling 
succession  of  French  patisseries;  but  bully 
beef  and  pork  and  beans  are  too  solid  a 
matter  for  anything  but  a  moral  discourse. 
They  have  no  lyric  fervour,  their  very  sound 
is  redolent  of  platitudes,  and  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  day  up  to  the  very  end 
to  hear  nothing  but  panegyrics  on  their 
composition, — it  was  indeed  a  trial. 


104 


Parcels 

§  2 
It  was  not  till  the  end  of  June  that  parcels 
began  to  arrive  at  fixed  and  regular  intervals, 
and  those  were  days  of  great  excitement. 
Each  morning  at  8.30  a.m.  the  names  went 
up  on  the  notice  board,  and  immediately  a 
cry  ran  round  the  barracks,  "  List  up." 
Pandemonium  broke  loose.  The  laziest 
Gefangener  leapt  from  his  bed,  pulled  on  a 
pair  of  trousers,  dived  into  the  safety  of  a 
trench  coat,  and  rushed  for  the  board.  In 
that  space  were  waged  Homeric  contests. 
Some  hundred  brawny  soldiers  were  all 
struggling  towards  a  small  board,  on  which 
fluttered  the  almost  illegible  carbon  copies 
of  the  sacred  list.  There  was  much  craning 
of  necks,  and  driving  of  elbows,  much  curs- 
ing and  much  apologising.  The  weak  were 
driven  to  the  wall ;  and  even  when  a  forward 
surge  had  borne  the  eager  aspirant  to  the 
portals  of  his  inquiry,  there  remained  for 
him  the  ardours  of  retreat.  Through  a  solid 
square   of  humanity   he   had   to   drive   his 

harassed  frame. 

105 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

These  were  moments  of  high  excitement 
and  of  an  equivalent  depression.  Those  to 
whom  the  rush  for  the  board  had  seemed 
too  hazardous  an  exploit  waited  impatiently 
within  the  room  for  the  tidings  of  some 
enterprising  herald.  Anxiously  they  would 
lean  out  of  the  window  looking  for  a  returning 
comrade. 

"  By  Jove,"  some  one  would  say,  "  look, 
here's  Evans  coming." 

"Has  he  signalled  anything?" 

"  No,  but  he's  coming  awful  slow.  There 
can't  be  anything  for  him." 

And  sadly  Evans  would  re-enter  the  room 
from  which  he  had  set  forth  with  such  gay 
hopes. 

"  One  for  you,  Turner;  and  you've  clicked. 
Smith,  two  for  you;  and  Piggett,  you've 
got  one.     Nothing  for  the  rest." 

"  Nothing?  "  echoed  the  rest. 

"  No,"  Evans  would  grunt,  and  for  him, 
as  for  the  other  unfortunates,  the  remainder 
of  the  day  had  lost  all  savour  and  romance. 

For  the  lucky,  however,  the  excitement 
106 


Parcels 

of  the  morning  had  only  just  begun,  and  a 
mere  name  on  the  parcel  list  served  but  as  a 
preliminary  excitant.  The  real  zest  of  dissi- 
pation was  still  in  store.  Behind  the  barred 
doors  of  the  "  Ausgabe  "  lay  all  the  innumer- 
able varieties  of  an  assignation.  There  might 
be  cigarettes,  clothing  perhaps,  a  cycle  parcel 
from  Thurloe  Place,  or,  and  this  was  in 
parenthesis,  a  mouldy  loaf  from  Copenhagen. 

First  of  all,  there  was  the  queue,  the 
inevitable  prelude  to  every  form  of  punish- 
ment and  amusement;  and  in  this  queue 
conjecture  ran  wild  on  the  probable  percent- 
age of  bread  parcels  in  the  camp. 

"  Well,  I  was  standing  by  the  gate  yester- 
day," one  fellow  was  saying,  "  and  I  saw  a 
load  of  parcels  come  in,  and  damn  me  if 
every  one  wasn't  a  Thurloe  Place." 

"  Ah,"  but  the  pessimist  would  break  in, 
"that  was  the  second  load,  you  saw.  I 
watched  all  three  come  in,  and  believe  me, 
in  the  first  and  last  loads  there  was  nothing 
but  bread." 

This,  however,  no  one  would  believe,  and 
107 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

the   imparter   of  this   rumour  was   told   to 
secrete  his  information  elsewhere. 

Slowly  the  queue  moved  forward,  and  at 
last  the  claimant  passed  through  the  sacred 
portals  that  were  watched  over  by  guardian 
angels  in  the  form  of  whiskered  sentries 
with  zigzagged  bayonets ;  within  the  sacred 
place  there  were  even  more  seraphim.  Be- 
hind a  long  table  stood  four  slovenly  civilians, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  open  the  parcels,  and 
see  that  no  sabres  or  revolvers  were  concealed 
beneath  the  apparent  innocence  of  a  tin  of 
Maconochie's  beef  dripping.  At  a  far  corner 
of  the  table  was  the  high  priest,  the  master 
of  the  ceremonies.  He  sat  there  "  coldly 
sublime,  intolerably  just,"  with  a  large  book 
in  which  he  entered  every  name. 

Action  proceeded  on  lines  of  Teutonic 
formality.  The  claimant  for  a  parcel  would 
first  of  all  present  himself  before  the  high 
priest,  and  murmur  the  number  of  his  parcel. 

"  Twenty-one." 

This  the  high  priest  would  translate  into 
German  with  a  commendable  rapidity. 

108 


Parcels 

''  Ein  und  zwanzig." 

He  would  shout  this  over  his  shoulder 
to  one  of  the  many  satellites  whose  work  it 
was  to  produce  the  required  parcel.  The 
next  few  seconds  would  be  anxious  ones  for 
the  hungry  Gefangener,  He  would  watch 
the  sentry  move  about  among  a  store  of 
boxes,  moving  one,  displacing  another.  He 
would  lift  a  parcel  so  small  that  it  could 
assuredly  contain  nothing  but  boot  polish, 
and  a  shiver  would  pass  through  the  leanly 
expectant.  But  at  last,  after  many  vacilla- 
tions and  counter-marches,  he  would  emerge 
triumphantly  with  a  cardboard  box  bearing 
the  large  Red  Cross  of  the  Central  London 
Committee. 

But  even  then  there  was  more  to  be  done. 
Each  parcel  had  to  be  carefully  opened 
and  its  contents  examined.  No  tins  nor 
paper  could  be  taken  away.  Packets  of 
tea  and  cocoa  had  to  be  stripped  of  their 
covering  and  emptied  into  baskets,  while 
the  tinned  foods  were  spirited  away  to  the 
block  cellar,   where  later  in  the  day  they 

109 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

were  opened  in  the  presence  of  a  number 
of  sentinels. 

The  reason  for  all  this  palaver  we  never 
quite  managed  to  fathom.  It  was  surely 
enough  that  the  British  Red  Cross  had 
pledged  its  word  not  to  include  for  exporta- 
tion tracts  for  the  times,  pulpit  propaganda, 
or  prismatic  compasses.  With  delightful 
duplicity  the  German  authorities  laid  the 
blame  of  this  on  to  our  Allies. 

"  You  see,"  they  said,  "  we're  very  sorry, 
but  the  French  get  so  many  things  in  their 
tins;  poison  for  our  herbs,  and  knives  and 
files.  We  must  take  precautions.  Of  course 
many  parcels  are  quite  all  right,  but  the 
French,  you  see  .  .  .  ." 

And  to  our  Allies  the  Germans  told  the 
same  tale. 

"  You  see,"  they  said,  "  your  parcels  are  all 
right,  but  the  English  hide  corkscrews  in  their 
bully  beef.     We  must  take  precautions.  .  .  ." 

And  so  another  link  was  added  to  the 
immense  chain  of  queues. 

At  this  time,  too,  letters  and  books  began 
110 


Parcels 

to  arrive,  and  over  these  officialdom  wound 
all  the  intricacies  that  it  could  muster. 
Letters  had  to  be  fumigated  first,  each  page 
had  to  be  carefully  censored,  and  stamped 
with  a  large  messy  blue  circle  usually  de- 
posited over  the  least  legible  portion  of  the 
correspondence.  And  every  novel  had  to 
be  read  from  beginning  to  end. 

Numerous  were  the  regulations.  Any 
reference  to  Germany  was  taboo,  the  mere 
mention  of  the  word  Hun  or  Boche  was  the 
signal  for  confiscation.  Of  my  first  consign- 
ment of  books,  two  were  suppressed.  One 
of  them  being  rather  a  prolix  novel  to  the 
tune  of  khaki  kisses,  was  not  much  loss; 
but  the  other.  Ford  Madox  Hueffer's  volume 
of  poems,  I  made  valiant  efforts  to  save.  One 
evening  I  caught  the  censor  unprepared,  and 
pointed  out  to  him  that  the  author  was  a 
man  of  complete  literary  integrity,  and  that 
nothing  he  could  write  could  be  looked  upon 
as  dangerous. 

"  Ah,  but,"  the  censor  expostulated,  "  it 
is  all  full  of  Huns  and  Boche." 

Ill 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  Ah,  well,"  I  said,  "  can't  you  tear  those 
pages  out?  " 

"  But  then  there  would  be  no  pages  left," 
and  against  this  assertion  argument  was 
impossible.  "  And  you  see,"  he  went  on,  "  we 
are  not  Huns." 

"No?"  I  said. 

"  No,  the  Huns  were  beaten  at   Chalons 
in   A.D.    453.      You   have  no  right  to   call 
us  Huns.     That   is   your  Northcliffe   Press 
your  hate  campaign;   we  are  men  the  same 
as  you." 

And  it  was  quite  useless  to  point  out  that 
the  average  soldier  applies  the  nickname 
"  Hun  "  or  "  Boche  "  or  "  Jerry  "  in  very 
much  the  same  way  as  we  call  the  Scotch 
"  Jocks  "  and   the  Frenchmen  "  Froggies." 

The  censor  would  not  see  it.  "  You  think 
we  are  all  barbarians,"  he  maintained.  "  It 
is  your  hate  campaign,  and  we  are  not  Huns ; 
the  Huns  were  beaten  in  453  at  Chalons 
by  the  Romans." 

East  of  the  Rhine  there  is  not  much  sense 
of  humour. 

112 


Parcels 

And  indeed,  considering  the  way  in  which 
the  Kaiser  has  compared  himself  to  Attila, 
our  warders  were  pecuHarly  sensitive  on  this 
point.  And  they  always  approached  it 
with  that  strange  Teuton  seriousness  that 
is  for  ever  hanging  over  the  crags  of  the 
ridiculous. 

At  Karlsruhe,  on  the  preceding  Christmas, 
a  certain  officer,  who  had  spent  most  of  the 
afternoon  beside  a  bottle,  in  the  middle  of  a 
camp  concert  arrogated  to  himself  the  right 
to  play  a  leading  part.  And  leaping  on  the 
stage,  he  had  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour 
regaled  the  audience  with  an  exhilarating  ex- 
hibition that  contained  many  good-humoured 
but  forceful  references  to  his  "  sweet  friend 
the  enemy."  Unfortunately  a  German  censor 
was  present,  and  the  next  morning  the  officer 
was  testily  buttonholed  by  the  sleuthhound. 

"  Captain  Arnold,"  said  the  censor,  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  make  any  trouble  between  you 
and  us,  but  you  said  last  night  many  things 
that  were  most  offensive." 

Captain  Arnold,   whose  memories   of  the 
I  113 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

preceding  evening  were  shrouded  in  a  mist 
of  cocktails,  endeavoured  to  be  jocular. 

"  Oh,  no,  surely  not  ?  Not  offensive ; 
come  now,  not  offensive." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  they  were ;  most  offensive, 
Captain  Arnold.     You  called  us  Huns." 

The  gallant  officer  realised  that  he  had 
been  indiscreet,  and  saw  that  only  one  way 
lay  open  to  him. 

"  Hun,"  he  said.  ''  But  why  not,  that's 
what  you  call  yourselves,  isn't  it? 

The  censor  looked  astonished,  and 
aggrieved. 

"  But  surely.  Captain  Arnold,  you  know 
what  is  a  Hun  ?  " 
"  Not  exactly,  no." 
"  Very  good.     I  will  show  you." 
The  next  day  the  censor  appeared  bearing 
a  history  of  Germany  in  three  volumes. 

"  Now,  Captain  Arnold,"  he  said,  "  you 
will  find  here  all  there  is  to  know.  It  is 
quite  simple;  no  doubt  you  will  be  able  to 
borrow  a  German  dictionary,  so  that  you  can 
look  up  the  words.   You  will  find  all  about  it." 

114 


Parcels 

For  three  days  Captain  Arnold  kept  the 
books,  and  then  returned  them  with  many 
thanks  and  a  promise  not  to  repeat  his 
insults. 

"  I  thought  you  would  understand,"  said 
the  German  censor.  "It  is  only  ignorance 
on  your  part  that  makes  you  call  us  Huns; 
and  now  you  will  tell  your  comrades,  and 
they  will  understand  too." 

And  the  little  man  trotted  off,  happy  in 
the  thought  that  his  race  had  emerged  from 
the  examination  triumphantly  vindicated. 


115 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OUR   GENERAL   TREATMENT 

A  GREAT  deal  has  been  said  and  written 
on  the  subject  of  the  treatment  of  British 
prisoners  of  war,  and  the  general  idea  at 
the  present  moment  is  one  of  a  succession 
of  unparalleled  brutalities  and  insults.  That 
much  inhumanity  has  been  shown  it  is 
neither  possible  nor  desirable  to  deny,  and  it 
is  only  just  that  those  responsible  should  have 
to  give  an  account  of  their  actions.  But 
it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  though  all  the 
instances  brought  forward  are  perfectly  true 
and  authentic,  propaganda  aims  not  at  the 
vraie  verite,  but  at  the  establishment  of  an 
argument;  and  the  individual  instances, 
which  have  formed  the  foundations  of  this 
conception  of  inhumanity,  do  not  present  a 
complete  picture  of  captivity,  and  should  not 
be  taken  as  typical  of  every  prison  camp. 

116 


Our  General  Treatment 

Of  course  one  can  only  write  about  what 
one  knows.  Baden-Hessen  is  one  of  the 
more  moderate  provinces ;  and  the  treatment 
of  officers  is  infinitely  better  than  that  of  the 
men.  But,  speaking  from  my  own  experi- 
ence, I  can  say  with  perfect  sincerity  that, 
from  the  moment  when  I  was  captured  to 
the  moment  of  release,  I  was  not  subjected 
to  a  single  insult  or  a  single  act  of  brutahty. 
I  was  treated  with  as  much  courtesy  as  I 
should  have  expected  from  a  battalion 
orderly-room,  and  the  discomforts  and  in- 
conveniences of  the  journey  were  due  in  the 
main  to  faulty  organisation.  It  sounds  bad 
when  one  hears  that  a  batch  of  prisoners 
were  sent  on  a  four  days'  journey  with 
rations  for  one  day,  but  the  corollary  that 
the  accompanying  German  sentries  were 
provided  with  exactly  the  same  amount  of 
food  casts  a  very  different  aspect  on  the 
case. 

The  starvation  of  prisoners  has  become 
almost  an  axiom,  and  indeed  they  were 
miserably  underfed;    but  so  was  the  entire 

117 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

German  people,  and  the  custom  of  treating 
prisoners  as  well  as  civilians  is  confined  to 
England.  Among  all  continental  nations 
it  is  an  understood  thing  that  on  the  scale 
of  diet  the  enemy  should  come  last,  and  in 
Germany  there  was  only  enough  food  for  a 
bare  existence. 

In  this  respect,  I  believe,  officers  were 
much  more  fortunate  than  their  men,  and 
certainly  they  had  the  great  advantage  of 
a  permanent  address.  For  the  men  were 
being  continually  moved  from  one  camp  to 
another.  At  one  time  they  would  be  working 
in  the  fields,  at  another  in  the  salt  mines, 
sometimes  stopping  for  a  couple  of  months, 
sometimes  only  for  a  few  days.  The  result 
of  this  was  that  their  parcels  were  trailing 
after  them  right  across  Germany.  At  times 
they  would  go  several  months  without  one 
at  all,  and  then  if  they  had  the  luck  to  make 
somewhere  a  prolonged  sojourn,  they  might 
receive  thirteen  parcels  within  three  days. 
Of  course  the  men  shared  out  their  parcels 
as   far   as   possible,    but   they   were   never 

118 


Our  General  Treatment 

certain  what  was  coming  next,  and  they  had 
many  very  hungry  days. 

With  us  there  was  none  of  that :  we  were 
in  a  permanent  camp,  and  our  parcels  when 
once  they  had  begun  to  arrive  came  through 
regularly.  There  were  delays  occasionally, 
especially  when  heavy  fighting  involved  con- 
gestion of  the  railways;  but  eventually  we 
received  every  parcel  dispatched  from  a 
central  committee.  The  only  ones  that  did 
get  lost  were  the  home  parcels  that  were 
sent  privately.  Everything  sent  from  the 
Red  Cross  Committee,  or  from  Harrod's  or 
Selfridge's,  arrived  intact  and  in  perfect 
condition. 

As  regards  actual  treatment,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  officers  were  not  made  to  work, 
there  were  very  few  occasions  when  physical 
violence  was  possible,  cases  of  this  sort 
generally  occurring  when  men  proved  in- 
tractable in  the  factories.  The  only  oppor- 
tunities that  were  presented  were  when  officers 
tried  to  get  away,  and  the  sentries  availed 
themselves  of  these  chances  pretty  generously. 

119 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

There  were  four  or  five  attempted  escapes, 
and  on  two  of  these  occasions  the  officers 
were  badly  mauled  by  the  sentries.  The 
second  time  that  this  happened  the  German 
orderly  officer  put  a  stop  to  this  treatment  at 
once;  but  on  the  first  occasion  the  officer 
stood  by  while  the  sentries  belaboured  their 
captive  with  the  butts  of  their  rifles. 

The  would-be  Monte  Cristos  turned  to  the 
German  officer  and  asked  him  if  he  considered 
such  treatment  proper  for  a  British  officer. 

The  German  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh, 
well,"  he  said,  "  you  must  expect  this  sort 
of  thing  if  you  try  to  escape.  You  ought  to 
stop  in  your  room." 

Before,  this  particular  German  had  always 
been  especially  agreeable  to  us.  The  only 
possible  excuse  for  his  behaviour  lies  in  the 
fact  that  he  was  very  fond  of  the  bottle,  and 
might  have  been  a  little  drunk.  But  how- 
ever one  looks  at  it,  it  was  a  sufficiently 
discreditable  affair. 

Of  the  insults  and  degradations  to  which 
the  officers  of  the  camp  at  Holzminden  were 

120 


Our  General  Treatment 

subjected  we  had  no  experience.  The  Ger- 
mans adopted  towards  us  an  invariable 
attitude  of  respect  that  was  if  anything  too 
suave.  They  were  always  profuse  with 
promises,  but  it  was  very  hard  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  they  would  say,  "  we  can  do 
that  easily.  We  will  go  to  the  General  and 
it  will  be  all  right.  Don't  worry  any  more 
about  it.  We'll  see  to  it,  it  will  be  quite 
simple." 

But  nothing  ever  happened.  The  simplest 
request  always  managed  to  lose  itself  some- 
where between  the  block  office  and  the 
Commandant's  study;  and  gradually  we 
learnt  that  formal  applications  were  no  use 
whatsoever,  and  that  if  any  one  wished  to 
change  from  one  room  to  another,  the  surest 
way  to  get  there  was  to  collect  all  his  baggage 
into  a  heap  and  move  there  independently. 

The  probable  cause  of  this  was  the  General 
himself,  who  was  one  of  the  most  arrogant 
and  pompous  little  men  that  militarism 
could  produce,     He  was  the  complete  Prus- 

121 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

sian,  the  Prussian  of  the  music-hall  and  the 
Lyceum.  Very  small  and  straight,  he  would 
strut  about  the  parade-ground  clanking  his 
spurs,  or  else  he  would  stand  in  a  pose,  his 
cloak  pulled  back  to  reveal  his  Iron  Cross. 
And  he  was  utterly  vindictive.  One  does  not 
wish  to  misjudge  any  human  being,  but  I 
feel  sure  he  must  have  derived  an  acute 
pleasure  from  sitting  at  his  window  and 
looking  down  on  the  court,  his  eyes  hungry 
for  some  misdemeanour  on  our  parts,  in 
which  he  might  possibly  find  an  excuse  for 
some  punishment. 

He  was  certainly  given  opportunities,  and 
I  think  that  considering  the  man  he  was, 
it  would  have  been  judicious  to  have  ap- 
proached him  in  a  slightly  different  way. 
But  it  always  happens  that  the  majority  have 
to  suffer  for  the  faults  of  a  few  thoughtless 
people,  and  several  restrictions  were  placed 
on  the  camp  that  could  have  been  easily 
avoided.  In  every  community  there  is  the 
rowdy  section,  and  this  rowdiness  was 
accentuated  by  the  lack  of  freedom.      There 

122 


Our  General  Treatment 

was  no  outlet  for  energy,  except  a  walk 
round  the  square,  or  a  very  occasional  game 
of  hockey.  And  the  spirits  of  the  swash- 
bucklers found  expression  in  ''  rags  "  organ- 
ised on  an  extensive  scale. 

But  it  was  unfortunate  for  those  who, 
having  realised  that  they  were  prisoners, 
wished  to  make  the  best  of  their  conditions. 
And  really  the  rags  were  extraordinarily 
futile.  One  sportsman  conceived  the  idea 
of  lowering  from  the  top-story  windows 
dummies  which  the  sentries  would  mistake 
for  escaping  Britishers  and  fire  at.  Luckily 
this  scheme  was  suppressed,  but  there  was 
nevertheless  one  night  a  very  large  and 
organised  jollificatioil,  which  was  of  course 
exactly  what  the  General  wanted. 

For  three  weeks  he  closed  the  camp 
theatre,  and  put  a  stop  to  music  and  concerts 
of  any  description,  which  meant  the  removal 
of  the  only  form  of  amusement  that  we  had. 

On  another  occasion  when  bombs  were 
being  dropped  on  Mainz,  a  few  officers  began 
to  cheer  and  shout.     It  was  again  playing 

123 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

straight  into  the  General's  hands.  He  im- 
mediately stopped  for  a  period  of  two 
months  all  walks  outside  the  camp,  and  any 
one  who  has  been  a  prisoner  will  know  what 
the  curtailing  of  that  privilege  meant.  It 
was  a  great  pity,  and  our  prison  life  would 
have  been  much  more  easy,  if  only  the 
turbulent  few  had  realised  that  it  was  in 
their  own  interests  to  keep  quiet,  considering 
the  man  with  whom  they  had  to  deal. 

Though  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  little 
doubt  that,  however  well  we  had  behaved, 
the  General  would  have  found  some  excuse 
for  inflicting  reprisals.  For  he  was  quite  cap- 
able of  inventing  regulations  off  his  own  bat. 
He  was  a  sort  of  self-elected  dictator,  and 
drew  up  his  own  code  and  Army  Act.  His 
most  scandalous  infliction  was  an  order 
that  the  covers  should  be  removed  from  all 
books  before  being  issued  to  the  camp. 
The  old  excuse  was  brought  forward;  the 
French  used  to  hide  maps  and  poison  between 
the  cardboard  and  the  cloth. 

For  this  order  the  General  had  apparently 
124 


Our  General  Treatment 

no  authority  whatsoever,  and  it  was  par- 
ticularly unjust,  because  we  had  been  pre- 
cisely told  at  Karlsruhe  that  all  books  must 
come  direct  from  a  publisher,  so  as  to  prevent 
any  danger  of  their  being  tampered  with. 
The  result  was  that  we  had  all  sent  home  for 
new  copies  of  books  of  which  we  already  had 
soiled  duplicates,  and  then  when  the  books 
arrived,  we  found  that  they  had  to  be 
practically  cut  to  pieces. 

They  told  us  that  the  books  could  be  kept 
for  us  if  we  liked,  but  naturally  we  did  want 
to  read  them,  now  that  they  had  come,  and 
we  had  no  other  alternative  but  to  authorise 
their  execution ;  and  surely  for  the  true  book- 
lover  there  can  be  no  fate  more  awful  than 
to  have  to  stand  in  silence  and  watch  book 
after  book  being  barbarously  mutilated. 

Occasionally  we  would  try  and  save  a 
volume.  The  Bible  was  the  centre  of  much 
controversy.  There  was  no  reason  why  it 
should  be  regarded  as  any  more  innocent 
than  a  Swinburne  as  a  possible  receptacle 
for  propaganda,  but  the  censor  did  certainly 

125 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

hesitate  over  it  for  a  moment.     But  eventu- 
ally he  did  not  relent. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  it  must  go,"  he  said; 
"  after  all  that  God  has  put  up  with  during 
the  last  four  years,  He  ought  to  be  able  to 
survive  this." 

It  was  the  one  flash  of  wit  he  showed, 
but  it  did  little  to  save  our  covers.  To  all 
intents  and  purposes  the  books  were  ruined. 
The  leaves  began  to  turn  up  at  the  edges. 
After  a  book  had  been  read  three  times,  the 
glue  at  the  back  had  cracked,  and  the  pages 
gradually  loosened.  It  was  a  sorry  business  ; 
at  least  two  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  books 
must  have  been  cut  up  within  three  months, 
and  there  was  absolutely  no  authority  for 
the  order.  This  we  discovered  later  on,  when 
we  managed  to  lodge  a  complaint  before  the 
Central  Command  at  Frankfort.  They  told 
us  there  that  they  had  no  objection  at  all 
to  the  issue  of  books  with  covers,  and  the 
restriction  was  instantly  removed;  but  in 
the  meantime  no  small  part  of  a  library  had 
been  destroyed. 

126 


Our  General  Treatment 

But  our  chief  grievance  was  a  medical 
one.  The  organisation  of  the  camp  was 
quite  inadequate  to  meet  the  demands  of 
any  sudden  epidemic.  In  ordinary  times  it 
certainly  worked  well  enough.  Personally 
I  never  went  to  hospital,  but  a  friend  of 
mine  who  spent  a  week  in  the  isolation 
hospital  brought  back  a  very  favourable 
account  of  his  treatment.  The  food  was 
excellent,  and  the  sister  was  particularly 
kind,  going  out  of  her  way  to  do  everything 
that  lay  within  her  power.  But  it  was  very 
different  towards  the  end  of  the  autumn, 
when  the  grippe  was  raging  in  the  camp  to 
such  an  extent  that  in  the  average  room  of 
eleven  officers,  there  was  hardly  a  day  when 
less  than  four  officers  were  in  bed,  and  the 
arrangements  were  very  poor.  Of  course 
every  allowance  must  be  made  for  the  fact 
that  there  was  hardly  any  medicine  in  Ger- 
many, and  that  when  a  disease  had  once 
started  there,  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
stop  it.  But  the  medical  attendance  was 
both  ignorant  and  desultory.     Those  cases 

127 


The  Prisoners,  of  Mainz 

that  were  removed  to  the  hospital  were  given, 
it  is  true,  attendance  as  careful  as  they  would 
have  received  in  England.  But  in  the  camp 
the  doctor  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in 
his  work  at  all.  Very  often  he  only  visited 
the  patients  once  every  three  days,  and 
when  he  came  he  did  not  take  much  trouble 
with  them.  He  used  to  ask  a  few  casual 
questions  and  then  say,  "  Aspirin  and  tea." 
The  sick  had  to  rely  entirely  on  the  other 
occupants  of  their  room,  and  the  help  they 
received  was  willing  but  naturally  ignorant. 
The  result  was  that  many  officers  became 
very  seriously  ill,  and  several  of  them  died. 
The  German  organisation  was  in  this  case 
criminally  inadequate. 


128 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   DAILY    ROUND 
§    1 

Within  a  few  weeks,  however,  the  arrival 
of  a  parcel  had  ceased  to  be  an  affair  of 
momentous  import.  We  could  look  on  bully 
beef  and  Maconochies  with  comparative 
unconcern.  The  contents  of  each  parcel 
varied  only  in  such  incidentals  as  sugar, 
chocolate,  and  packets  of  whole  rice.  The 
framework  was  the  same,  a  solid  enough 
construction,  but  one  that  as  a  continuous 
diet  proved  ineffably  tedious.  To  begin 
with,  we  tried  to  make  our  meals  more  inter- 
esting with  improvised  puddings.  We  mixed 
a  certain  number  of  different  ingredients 
into  a  bowl  of  water,  beat  them  up  into  a 
paste,  and  then  baked  them  in  a  tepid  oven. 
The  result  was  usually  stodgy  and  quite 
K  129 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

tasteless.  Personal  vanity  prevented  us 
from  confessing  this,  and  night  after  night 
we  struggled  through  these  lukewarm,  im- 
palatable  dishes.  How  long  this  would  have 
gone  on  I  do  not  know ;  when  the  end  came 
it  came  very  suddenly. 

One  evening  there  was  a  lecture  in  con- 
nection with  the  Pitt  League,  and  it  was 
rumoured  that  Colonel  Westcott  was  going 
to  speak.  And  Colonel  Westcott's  speeches 
were  such  that  no  one  would  willingly  miss. 
He  had  always  ready  some  new  panacea, 
some  fresh  catchword.  As  long  as  he  re- 
mained passive  he  was  infinitely  entertaining. 

''  We  must  go  to  this,"  said  Evans,  and 
with  some  alarm  I  noticed  that  of  the  five 
other  members  of  our  mess,  four  were  pre- 
paring to  move  seating  accommodation. 

"That's  all  very  jolly,"  I  said,  "but 
who's  going  to  cook  the  dinner  ?  " 

The  answer  came  back  with  a  startling 
unanimity. 

"  You." 

"  But  look  here,"  I  began  to  protest, 
130 


The  Daily   Round 

"  you  know  what  I  am  at  these  things.  I've 
never  cooked  a  dinner  before." 

"  Time  you  began  then." 

And  I  was  left  standing  before  an  empty 
stove.  There  remained  only  one  other 
member  of  our  mess,  my  friend  Barron, 
who  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  day 
asleep.     I  woke  him  up. 

"Barron,"  I  said,  "we've  got  to  cook 
the  dinner." 

He  blinked  up  through  sleep-laden  eyes. 

"  But,  my  dear  Alec  .  .  .  ." 

"  It's  no  good,"  I  said  sternly.  "  If  we 
want  anything  to  eat,  and  I  most  certainly 
do,  we've  got  to  cook  it  ourselves." 

Slowly  Barron  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  got  ?  " 

"  There's  a  tin  of  bully,  some  beans,  half 
a  Maconochie,  we  can  make  a  stew  of  that." 

The  stew  was  the  work  of  a  second.  We 
mixed  it  all  up  with  water,  scattered  some 
salt  on  the  top,  and  left  it  to  boil. 

"  And  now  the  pudding,"  I  said. 

This  proved  a  more  difficvilt  matter.  There 
131 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

was  no  rice  left,  and  we  had  used  the  last  of 
the  Turban  packets. 

"  Archie,"  I  said,  "  we'll  have  to  invent 
one." 

For  five  minutes  we  argued  about  the 
ingredients.  Hodges  wanted  to  give  it  a 
fish-flavour  by  adding  a  tin  of  salmon  and 
shrimp  paste. 

*'  There's  been  no  taste  to  the  beastly 
thing  for  the  last  six  days,"  he  protested. 
"  It  might  just  as  well  taste  of  that  as 
nothing." 

Finally,  however,  we  decided  on  what  we 
euphemistically  dubbed  a  chocolate  souffle. 
First  of  all  we  spread  a  handkerchief  flat 
on  the  table,  and  sprinkled  over  it  a  little 
cornflour.     We  then  took  a  packet  of  cocoa. 

*'  How  much  shall  I  upset  ?  "  I  asked. 

We  read  the  directions  on  the  outside, 
but  on  the  subject  of  chocolate  souffles  the 
manufacturers  were  sadly  reticent.  So  as 
there  was  no  clear  guide,  we  used  the 
entire  packet. 

The  mixture  now  seemed  to  demand  some 
132 


The  Daily  Round 

moisture,  so  we  poured  a  little  warm  water 
on  it,  and  tried  to  knead  it  into  a  dough. 
But  it  did  not  work :  a  brown  paste  adhered 
to  our  fingers;    nothing  more. 

"  It  won't  bind,"  said  Barron.  "  We  must 
put  some  butter  with  it." 

"  We've  got  no  butter." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  try  some  beef-dripping." 

So  the  next  ingredient  was  half  a  tin 
of  dripping,  and  as  regards  appearances  it 
certainly  had  excellent  results.  A  few  min- 
utes' hard  kneading  produced  an  admirable 
dough.  But  when  we  sucked  our  fingers 
afterwards,  the  flavour  was  anything  but 
that  of  chocolate.  It  had  a  thick  and  greasy 
taste. 

"  Alec,"  said  Hodges,  "  this  dripping's 
ruined  it." 

"  Your  idea,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  fierce,  then 
returned  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"  Something's  got  to  be  done,"  he  said ; 
"  we've  got  to  swamp  that  dripping  some- 
how." 

133 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  What  about  some  treacle  ?  "  I  hazarded. 
"  We  drew  some  this  afternoon." 

And  within  a  minute  the  bulk  of  our  pud- 
ding was  further  increased  by  an  entire  tin 
of  treacle,  and  whatever  its  taste  after  that, 
it  was  certainly  not  of  dripping. 

"  That's  about  enough,  isn't  it?  "  I  said. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  Archie  thought- 
fully, "  I  don't  really  think  it  would  be 
harmed  by  some  salmon  and  shrimp.  After 
all,  it  would  help  to  counterbalance  the 
dripping." 

But  already  I  had  begmi  to  wrap  the 
handkerchief  round  the  brown  sticky  ball. 
When  it  was  firmly  incased  and  knotted, 
we  lowered  it  into  a  small  saucepan,  put  it 
on  the  oven,  and  waited  for  the  wanderers' 
return. 

They  came  back  as  usual  with  a  great 
clatter  of  feet,  expressing  their  hunger  in 
the  most  forcible  terms. 

"  Hellish  hungry,"  shouted  Evans,  "  and 
the  dinner's  bound  to  be  awful  if  Waugh's 
cooked  it." 

134 


The  Daily  Round 

"  You  wait,"  I  said,  and  plumped  the  stew 
down  before  him.  This  dish,  probably  be- 
cause it  had  cooked  itself,  was  quite  eatable ; 
and  there  was  so  much  of  it  that  in  the  earlier 
days  it  would  have  formed  a  meal  of  generous 
proportions.  And  by  the  time  we  had 
finished  it,  none  of  us  felt  in  the  mood  for 
any  more  solid  fare.  Something  delicate 
and  appetising  would  have  been  delightful, 
a  piche  melba  perhaps,  but  suet  .  .  .no. 
And  of  course  this  rather  militated  against 
the  success  of  the  chocolate  souffle. 

And  to  begin  with,  it  was  a  little  burnt. 
There  was  a  large  hole  in  the  encircling 
handkerchief,  and  the  bottom  of  the  pudding 
was  black.  Considering  the  bulk  of  the 
pudding,  this  had  really  very  little  effect; 
but  it  prejudiced  the  others,  and  the  artist 
has  to  be  so  tactful  with  his  public. 

And  then  the  pudding  itself.  Well,  if 
we  had  not  had  the  stew  first,  I  am  sure  we 
should  have  all  enjoyed  it ;  but  coming  as  it 
did  on  the  top  of  a  heavy  dinner,  even  Barron 
and   myself  were   hard  driven  to   finish   it. 

135 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

And  it  was  only  self-respect  that  made  us. 
The  others  took  a  spoonful  or  two  and 
desisted.  Barron  and  I  struggled  manfully 
to  the  end,  and  were  then  conscious  of  four 
steely  pairs  of  eyes.  Evans,  who  acted  as  a 
sort  of  mess  president,  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  What  did  you  two  use  to  make  this 
pudding?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  I  said,  in  an  offhand 
way;  "  a  little  cocoa,  a  little  treacle,  a  little 
cornflour."  Somehow  I  felt  I  could  not 
confess  to  the  dripping. 

"  But  how  much  did  you  use  ?  " 

Barron  must  be  a  braver  man  than  1  am, 
or  it  may  have  been  he  was  still  feeling  a 
little  sore  because  the  salmon  paste  had  not 
been  included ;  at  any  rate  he  went  straight 
to  the  point. 

''  A  tin  of  each." 

There  was  a  general  consternation.  That 
a  whole  tin  of  treacle,  half  a  tin  of  dripping, 
a  complete  packet  of  cocoa,  had  all  gone  to 
a  pudding  that  only  a  third  of  the  mess  had 
been  able  to  eat  at  all  .  .  .  it  was  imbeliev- 

136 


The  Daily  Round 

able,  a  gross  case  of  misplaced  trust,  perfidy 
could  go  no  further. 

Barron  and  myself  were  not  popular  that 
evening.  But  our  peccadilloes  bore  fruit 
later.  That  chocolate  souffle  served  the  pur- 
pose of  a  climax.  From  that  day  onward 
it  was  implicitly  understood  that  no  cook 
should  invent  recipes  for  puddings. 

§  2 

With  the  regular  arrival  of  parcels,  and 
the  consequent  immunity  from  hunger,  our 
life  settled  down  into  that  ordered  calm 
which  would  have  been  the  constant  level 
of  our  routine  as  long  as  the  war  lasted. 
And  it  was  here  that  captivity  weighed 
most  heavily. 

Before,  our  routine  had  always  been  to  a 
certain  extent  progressive.  We  had  been 
a  new  camp,  we  had  had  to  form  societies 
and  committees.  We  had  a  library  to  build 
up,  and  there  was  always  the  parcel  list 
to  add  its  daily  incentive  to  enthusiasm. 
But  there  came  a  time,  when  all  these  wishes 

137 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

either  for  books  or  food  were  satisfied,  and 
when  the  mdividual  had  to  depend  for  amuse- 
ment solely  on  his  own  resources.  Here 
was  the  real  trial  of  captivity. 

Since  my  return  several  people  have  said 
to  me,  "  It  must  have  been  beastly  living 
among  the  Huns."  But  that  was  an  inflic- 
tion that  it  required  little  fortitude  to  bear. 
The  Huns  never  worried  us,  unless  we  worried 
them.  We  could  have  exactly  as  much 
intercourse  with  them  as  we  wanted,  and 
there  was  no  need  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  them  at  all.  But  there  was  no  escape 
from  the  continual  presence  of  five  hundred 
British  officers,  and  the  continual  conversa- 
tion of  the  ten  other  members  of  the  room. 
For  not  one  moment  was  it  possible  to  be 
alone.  And  as  the  evenings  grew  darker, 
the  doors  of  the  blocks  were  closed  earlier; 
and  by  October  we  foimd  ourselves  shut  in 
at  six  o'clock,  with  the  prospect  of  a  long 
evening  in  the  room. 

Those  evenings  were  simply  appalling. 
We  all  got  on  each  other's  nerves  horribly; 

138 


The  Daily  Round 

as  individuals  we  liked  each  other  well 
enough;  but  it  was  no  joke  to  be  in  the 
constant  company  of  the  same  people,  to 
hear  the  same  anecdotes,  the  same  opinions ; 
and,  owing  to  the  limited  area  of  common 
interests,  talk  always  centred  on  the  war. 
And  there  is  no  subject  more  wearisomely 
distasteful.  By  the  end  of  six  months' 
imprisonment  nearly  every  one  had  got 
utterly  fed  up  with  his  room  and  the  inmates 
of  it.  Smith  would  meet  Brown  outside  the 
Kantine,  and  a  conversation  of  this  sort 
would  take  place. 

"  My  Lord,  Brown,  but  my  room  is  the 
absolute  limit,  it  drives  me  nearly  wild." 

"  But,  my  dear  man,  you've  got  some 
topping  fellows  in  there,  there's  Jones  and 
Hawkins  and  May." 

"  I  dare  say,  but  you  try  living  with 
them  for  a  bit.  You  wouldn't  talk  like  that 
then." 

"  Oh,  well,"  Brown  would  say,  "  you 
haven't  got  much  to  grumble  at ;  if  you  were 
in  my  room,  now  .  .  .  ." 

139 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  But  your  room,  Brown ;  why,  there  are 
some  tophole  men  there.  .  .  ." 

And  so  the  world  went  round.  For 
indeed,  however  patient  one  is,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  live  in  the  same  room  as  ten  other 
men,  to  eat  there  and  sleep  there,  to  spend 
half  the  day  in  their  company,  and  not  get 
nervy.  Before  long  we  had  reached  that 
state  when  we  quarrelled  over  the  most 
trifling  things— about  the  dinner,  whether 
we  should  have  bully  beef  or  a  veal  loaf. 
The  slightest  inconvenience  awoke  resent- 
ment. All  the  domestic  details  that  cause 
friction  in  the  married  home  were  with  us 
intensified  a  hundredfold,  because  there  was 
with  us  none  of  the  real  and  selfless  affection 
which  alone  can  bridge  over  these  difficulties. 
Things  had  reached  a  sorry  state  by  the  time 
we  had  left ;  there  was  hardly  a  single  officer 
who  had  a  good  word  to  say  about  his  room. 
What  we  should  have  been  like  after  another 
year  I  dread  to  imagine. 

As  it  was,  it  was  bad  enough.     For  myself 
I  never  stayed  in  the  room  one  moment  more 

140 


The  Daily  Round 

than  I  could  help.  And  often  in  the  evenings 
after  the  doors  had  been  shut,  I  used  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  cold  stone  corridor  with 
Barron ;  we  would  do  anything  to  get  away 
from  the  room.  It  was  the  only  way  to 
preserve  our  balance. 

And  here  in  its  psychological  aspect  lies, 
I  think,  the  true  meaning  of  captivity ;  for  in 
the  bare  recital  of  incidents  there  must  be 
always  a  savour  of  the  soulless.  The  con- 
ditions of  life  are  only  really  important  in 
as  far  as  they  form  a  framework  for  per- 
sonality. It  is  the  individual  that  counts, 
and  the  real  meaning  of  eight  months'  im- 
prisonment does  not  lie  in  their  political  or 
sociological  aspect,  but  in  the  effect  that 
they  have  on  character.  For  each  person 
they  had  a  different  message,  each  person 
was  touched  in  a  different  way.  Probably 
through  the  mind  of  each  individual  flitted 
the  same  recurring  moods,  modified  and 
altered  by  the  demands  of  each  particular 
temperament,  but  still  the  moods  were  the 
same  fingers  playing  upon  different  strings. 

141 


The  Prisoners  ot  Mainz 

And  for  me,  at  any  rate,  the  mood  that 
recurred  most  frequently  was  one  of  a  grey 
depression,  mixed  with  a  profound  sense  of 
the  futility  of  human  effort.  Confinement 
inspires  morbidity  very  quickly,  and  some 
of  us  used  to  take  an  almost  savage  delight 
in  wrenching  down  the  few  frail  bulwarks 
of  an  ultimate  belief.  From  certain  quota- 
tions we  derived  an  exultant  satisfaction. 

"  Pleasure  of  life  what  is't  ?  the  good  hours  of  an  ague." 

We  used  to  croon  the  words  over  to  our- 
selves and  endeavour  to  arrive  at  some  stoic 
standpoint  from  which  we  could  completely 
objectify  ourselves  and  our  ambitions. 

The  wearisome  sameness  of  the  days,  the 
monotony  of  the  faces,  the  unchanged  land- 
scape, the  intolerable  talk  about  the  war, 
all  these  tended  to  produce  an  effect  of 
complete  and  utter  depression.  This  was 
far  and  away  our  worst  enemy  :  whole  days 
were  drenched  in  an  incurable  melancholia. 
The  continual  presence  of  sentries  and  barbed 
wire  flung  before  us  a  perpetual  symbol  of 

142 


The  Daily   Round 

the  intelligence  fettered  by  the  values  of  the 
phenomenal  world.  Life  resolved  itself  into 
a  picture  of  eternal  serfdom  :  sometimes  the 
body  was  enslaved,  sometimes  the  mind, 
but  there  was  always  some  bar  to  Freedom. 
It  was  all  so  much  "  heaving  at  a  moveless 
latch."     Purposeless  and  irrevocable. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  laugh  at  it  all  now. 
But  then  it  was  a  very  real  trial.  Those 
doubts  and  uncertainties,  which  at  some  time 
or  another  assail  all  men,  and  with  a  great 
many  form  a  silent  background  or  framework 
for  the  events  of  their  mournful  odyssey, 
were  with  us  continually  present;  and  how- 
ever gloomy  a  view  one  may  take  of  the 
universe,  one  wishes  to  be  able  to  escape 
from  it  at  times.  And  the  only  remedy  was 
work. 

Indeed  confinement  must  have  been  a  very 
real  ordeal  to  those  whose  temperaments 
were  not  self-sufficient,  and  who  depended 
on  the  outside  world  for  their  amusements 
and  distractions.  It  has  been  said  times 
without  number  that  the  dreamer  loses  half 

143 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

the  pleasure  of  life,  and  that  he  lies  bound  up 
by  his  own  fantasies  and  wayward  creations  : 
that  he  has  no  eyes  for  what  Pater  has  called 
"  the  continual  stir  and  motion  of  a  comely 
human  life."  Well,  Pater  wrote  that  of 
Attic  culture,  of  the  light-hearted  world  that 
is  reflected  in  the  pages  of  the  Lysis,  and 
perhaps  modern  life  presents  none  too  comely 
an  aspect.  Certainly  in  place  of  "stir  and 
motion "  we  have  bustle  and  excitement, 
a  clumsy  fumbling  after  sensation.  Perhaps 
the  dreamer  has  not  lost  so  very  much, 
and  he  does  at  any  rate  carry  his  own  world 
with  him :  he  is  self-sufficient ;  within  the 
sure  citadel  of  his  own  soul  he  can  always 
find  those  pleasin-es  which  alone  have  any 
claim  to  permanence.  Flaubert  is  always 
the  same,  behind  barbed  wire  as  in  the 
shadow  of  a  Wessex  garden  :  the  change  of 
environment  makes  no  difference  there. 

But  on  those  who  preferred  action  to  con- 
templation, prison  life  bore  very  heavily, 
and  there  was  something  rather  pathetic  in 
the    various    attempts   that   were   made   to 

144 


The  Daily   Round 

fight  against  the  growth  of  hstlessness  and 
apathy.  To  begin  with,  of  course,  every  one 
entered  his  name  on  the  roll  of  the  Future 
Career  Society;  no  one  took  less  than  three 
classes;  there  was  a  general  rush  to  attain 
knowledge  which  lasted  about  three  weeks. 

After  that,  life  resolved  itself  for  a  great 
many  into  a  laborious  effort  to  kill  time,  and 
here  the  Germans  showed  their  commercial 
instincts.  The  Kantine  authorities  catered 
for  this  hunger  for  novelty,  and  from  sure 
knowledge  of  the  depression  of  markets 
gauged  the  exact  moment  when  each  particu- 
lar craze  would  begin  to  ebb. 

The  first  hobby  was  wood-carving,  an  affair 
so  hazardous  that  the  first  day  numbered 
about  ten  per  cent,  casualties.  It  demanded 
enormous  delicacy.  Boxes  of  all  descrip- 
tions were  on  sale,  on  which  were  traced 
patterns  of  labyrinthic  intricacy;  one  could 
cut  photo  frames,  cigar  boxes,  paper 
cutters,  and  to  accomplish  this  labour  there 
were  provided  small  knives  of  a  razor-like 
sharpness,  which  under  the  influence  of  the 
L  145 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

least  overweight  of  pressure  flew  off  the  box 
at  an  alarming  angle,  to  bury  themselves  in 
the  palm  of  the  other  hand.  It  required 
enormous  patience,  and  to  me  appeared  one 
of  the  most  monotonous  occupations.  It 
took  hours  of  work  to  complete  the  smallest 
job. 

This,  of  course,  was  not  at  all  what  the 
Kantine  Wallahs  desired.  They  wanted  a 
hobby  which  would  require  a  lot  of  material 
and  very  little  time.  Wood-carving  took 
much  too  long,  and  the  profits  arrived  much 
too  slowly,  and  so  they  accelerated  the  slump 
in  wood-carving  by  the  innovation  of  satin- 
tasso,  which  was  in  every  way  a  far  more 
noble  craft. 

To  begin  with,  it  gave  the  personality  of 
the  artist  a  fuller  freedom.  In  wood-carving 
individual  preference  was  hopelessly  bound 
down  by  the  laws  of  pattern.  As  in  the  cast 
of  certain  modern  painters  who  having  once 
conceived  a  "  stunt,"  proceed  to  pour  the 
most  unlikely  moods  into  one  artistic  mould, 
the  individual  was  a  slave  to  shapes .     Against 

146 


The  Daily  Round 

this,  liberty  was  driven  to  revolt,  and  satin- 
tasso  provided  the  necessary  outlet. 

Even  here,  of  course,  there  were,  it  is  true, 
laws  and  patterns,  but  there  was  full  scope 
for  the  peculiarities  of  taste.  The  satin-tasso 
box  had  on  it  simply  the  bare  outline  of  a 
picture.  This  one  cut  round  with  a  sharp 
knife,  and  then  proceeded  to  colour  in  with 
special  paints;  and  in  the  employment  of 
these  paints  any  extravagance  was  per- 
mitted. Mediaeval  costumes  offered  superb 
opportunities  for  splendour  and  pagan  gold. 
Across  a  pearl-flecked  sky  emerald  clouds 
could  fade  into  a  wash  of  scarlet.  It  was 
truly  a  noble  craft,  and  the  whole  business 
only  took  a  few  hours,  which  was  most 
advantageous  both  for  the  suppliers  and  the 
supplied. 

There  is  nothing  that  pleases  the  craftsman 
more  than  the  sight  of  a  finished  article,  and 
there  is  nothing  that  gives  more  pleasure 
to  the  tradesman  than  the  swift  return  of 
gigantic  profits,  and  both  these  wishes  were 
granted.     The  Kantine  did   a  roaring  trade 

147 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

in  satin-tasso,  and  the  portmanteaus  of 
the  artisan  grew  heavy  with  trophies  and 
souvenirs. 

But  all  the  same  it  was  rather  a  pathetic 
sight  to  see  a  man  of  about  twenty-eight,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  sitting  down  every  afternoon 
and  evening,  fiddling  about  with  a  piece  of 
wood  and  a  box  of  paints.  He  derived  no 
pleasure  from  it :  it  merely  served  the  purpose 
of  a  narcotic.  As  long  as  his  hands  were 
employed  his  brain  would  go  to  sleep,  and  he 
need  no  longer  see  the  tedious  procession 
of  days  that  lay  before  him.  He  was  sym- 
bolic in  a  v/ay  of  the  Public  School  Education 
that  deliberately  starves  a  boy's  intellect  for 
the  sake  of  his  body.  The  type  of  clean- 
limbed Britisher,  that  Public  Schools  pro- 
duce, is  all  very  well  in  its  way,  and  is 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  type  produced 
by  any  other  system,  either  in  England  or 
France.  Of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt 
whatsoever.  But  the  schoolmasters  who 
adopt  this  line  of  argument,  forget  that 
they  are  dealing  with  a  material  refined  upon 

148 


The  Daily  Round 

by  the  breeding  of  centuries.  The  question 
is  not,  "  Is  the  material  good  ?  "  because  it  is. 
The  question  is,  "  Does  Education  make  the 
best  of  this  material  ?  "  and  I  am  very  certain 
that  it  does  not.  Every  man  should  have 
sufficient  part  in  the  intellectual  interests 
of  life,  to  be  able  to  keep  his  intelligence 
active  for  eight  months  in  surroundings  that 
provide  no  physical  outlets.  For  after  all, 
it  is  the  mind,  or,  to  use  Pater's  phrase,  "the 
imaginative  reason  "  that  counts. 

"  Thank  God  that  while  the  nerves  decay 
And  muscles  desiccate  away, 
The  brain's  the  hardiest  part  of  men 
And  thrives  till  threescore  years  and  ten." 

And  it  is  surely  a  severe  condemnation 
of  any  system  that  its  average  products  can 
derive  no  sustenance  from  the  contemplative 
side  of  life,  that  the  moment  they  are  out  of 
the  theatres,  they  have  absolutely  no  re- 
sources left.  It  would  have  given  me  the 
most  acute  satisfaction  to  have  been  able  to 
escort  there  some  of  the  many  schoolmasters 
who  so  fiercely  defended  themselves  behind 

149 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

the  legend,  "  By  our  works  ye  shall  judge  us," 
which  was  exactly  what  I  tried  to  do. 

The  narrow  limits  of  our  captivity  pro- 
vided us  with  only  one  other  craze,  the  last 
and  the  most  decadent,  for  which  reason, 
probably,  it  was  the  only  one  to  which 
I  succumbed— Manicure.  It  was  really  a 
tempting  lure.  One  evening  I  went  to  the 
Kantine  to  buy  a  pencil,  and  saw  a  row  of 
beautiful  plush  boxes,  in  which  reposed  long- 
handled  files,  and  scissors,  and  knives;  and 
beside  these  were  bottles  of  delicate  scents 
and  polishes  and  powders,  strangely  remi- 
niscent of  Amiens.  The  lure  was  too  great, 
and  forty  marks  went  west. 

From  that  day  onwards  our  room  was  a 
sort  of  general  manicuring  saloon.  Several 
of  us  bought  sets,  and  from  8  p.m.  to  10  p.m. 
we  received  visitors.  As  our  guests  received 
treatment  gratis,  and  the  initial  outlay 
towards  the  opening  of  the  saloon  was 
sufficiently  generous,  it  might  have  been 
thought  that  our  guests  came  out  of  the 
transaction  rather  well.   But  they  paid  richly 

150 


The  Daily  Round 

for  their  adornment  in  pain.  We  were  all 
amateurs,  and  the  manipulation  of  a  pair 
of  curved  scissors  requires  feminine  skill; 
no  one  has  ever  yet  called  me  neat- 
fingered,  and  those  scissors  were  very  sharp. 
During  the  operations  of  our  first  fortnight, 
of  all  those  who  came  to  us  with  gay  step, 
there  were  few  who  went  away  without  at 
least  one  finger  swathed  in  bandages. 


151 


CHAPTER   X 

HOW   WE    DID    NOT   ESCAPE 
§    1 

As  military  regulations  state  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  prisoner  of  war  to  make 
immediate  and  strenuous  effort  to  escape, 
and  as  every  man  is  at  heart  an  adventurer, 
it  is  not  surprising  that  our  languid  com- 
munity was  from  time  to  time  regaled  by 
the  rumours  of  impending  sorties. 

No  one  has  ever  yet  managed  to  escape 
from  Mainz,  and  even  if  the  war  had  lasted 
for  another  twenty  years,  I  believe  it  would 
have  retained  its  impregnability.  For  the 
citadel  had  been  constructed  so  as  to  resist 
the  old-fashioned  frontal  assault,  in  which 
infantry  without  the  aid  of  a  barrage 
endeavoured  to  demolish  vertical  walls. 
Round  the  buildings  ran  stone  battlements 

152 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

usually  fifty  feet  high.  At  any  point  where 
it  would  be  possible  to  jump  down  was 
stationed  a  sentry,  and  between  these  battle- 
ments and  the  buildings  were  two  distinct 
chains  of  wire  netting,  that  were  continually 
patrolled.  At  an  early  date  I  decided  that, 
in  my  personal  case,  the  possible  chances  of 
escape  in  no  way  counteracted  the  enor- 
mous inconvenience  to  which  an  attempt 
would  inevitably  put  me.  And  if  I  did  get 
away,  it  would  result  in  the  probable  loss  of 
the  greater  pai*t  of  my  library,  and  of  all  my 
MSS.  All  things  considered,  it  hardly  seemed 
worth  while. 

But  for  other  and  more  daring  spirits 
personal  inconvenience  was  a  thing  of  trifling 
importance.  They  would  talk  of  their  duty, 
of  their  hatred  of  the  Hun,  of  their  desire 
to  be  in  the  thick  of  things  again.  But  the 
chief  allurement  was  the  love  of  reclame: 
every  man  is  at  heart  a  novelist;  and  they 
would  picture  to  themselves  the  days  of 
"  What  did  you  do  in  the  great  war, 
Daddy  ?  "  and  the  proud  answei%  "  I  escaped 

153 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

from  Mainz,"  and  there  was  also  the  glory 
of  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.  They 
liked  to  be  talked  about  in  iindertones,  to 
hear  a  whisper  of  "  Don't  tell  any  one,  but 
that  fellow's  going  to  try  and  beat  it  to- 
morrow." They  hankered  after  excitement, 
and  in  consequence  when  their  schemes 
began  to  ripen  to  maturity,  they  enveloped 
their  actions  in  all  the  theatrical  para- 
phernalia of  Arsene  Lupin.  It  was  wonder- 
ful what  they  made  themselves  believe. 
Spies  were  lurking  everywhere,  and  in  con- 
sequence their  every  action  had  to  be  most 
carefully  concealed.  One  officer,  who  thought 
he  was  being  hoodwinked,  disguised  himself 
by  shaving  off  his  moustache,  and  wearing  a 
cap  all  day  to  hide  the  thinness  of  his  hair. 
Of  course  to  those  who  really  took  the  busi- 
ness seriously  every  credit  is  due.  They 
spent  hours  preparing  maps,  and  ropes,  and 
many  marks  in  bribing  sentries.  But  to 
the  majority  an  escape  consisted  chiefly  in 
a  bid  not  for  liberty  but  for  fame.  For  it 
was  only  with  the  most  deep  and  carefully 

154 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

laid  plans  that  any  one  could  have  hoped 
to  get  away. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  in  the 
machinery  of  these  enthusiasms  our  old 
friend  Colonel  Westcott  played  his  heroic 
part.  When  he  amalgamated  into  his  Pitt 
League  such  existing  organisations  as  the 
Future  Career  Society,  he  considered  that 
he  had  taken  under  his  wing  all  the  imperial 
activities  of  the  camp;  and  so  one  branch, 
and  a  very  select  branch,  of  his  scheme 
included  those  desirous  of  freedom.  It  was 
quite  a  harmless  affair,  this  little  society, 
and  in  no  way  jeopardised  the  chances  of 
escape.  All  that  the  Colonel  wanted  was 
to  feel  that  he  had  a  share  in  every  sphere  of 
the  life  of  which  he  was  the  central  embodi- 
ment. He  liked  to  have  these  yoimg  fellows 
sitting  round  him  discussing  their  plans ;  he 
liked  to  be  able  to  drop  here  and  there  the 
necessary  words  of  advice ;  it  was  an  under- 
stood thing  that  no  one  was  to  attempt  to 
escape  without  first  submitting  his  ideas  to 
the  Colonel;   and   within  a  brief  time  this 

155 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

amiable  gentleman  had  led  himself  to  believe 
that  he  was  the  fount  from  which  all  these 
alarums  and  excursions  flowed. 

The  first  attempt  did  not  take  place  till 
we  had  been  prisoners  a  little  over  four 
months,  but  its  preliminaries  began  a  good 
deal  earlier.  One  of  the  accomplices  was  in 
the  same  room  as  myself,  and  for  weeks  he 
used  to  carry  about  with  him  an  air  of 
mystery.  In  a  far  corner  of  the  room  he 
would  be  observed  tracing  maps  of  the 
various  roads  to  the  frontier,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  would  take  me  quietly 
aside. 

"  Don't  tell  any  one,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm 
going  to  clear  soon,  and  I'm  getting  the 
maps.  I  tell  you,  of  course,  because — oh, 
well,  you're  in  my  room,  and  all  that.  But 
keep  it  dark." 

He  spoke  like  that  to  nearly  all  of  his 
acquaintances.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  of 
breaking  laws  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing, 
but  one  does  want  the  rest  of  the  world  to 
know  what  a  devil  of  a  fellow  one  is. 

156 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

I  remember  one  Sunday  afternoon,  at 
school,  how  I  cut  the  cord  of  the  weight  on 
the  chapel  organ,  with  the  result  that  that 
evening  the  music  suddenly  stopped  and  the 
choir  wrecked.  It  was  a  noble  piece  of  work, 
which  I  surveyed  with  a  justifiable  pride. 
But  I  was  not  really  satisfied  till  I  had  told 
the  whole  house  about  it;  naturally,  of 
course,  swearing  each  individual  to  secrecy. 

"  Don't  tell  a  soul,  of  course,  old  man. 
I  should  get  in  a  hell  of  a  row  if  it  was 
foimd  out." 

Suave,  mari  magno,  .  .  .  When  one  is  per- 
fectly safe,  it  is  delightful  to  imagine  all  the 
punishments  that  might  have  been  visited 
on  one,  if  the  Fates  had  been  less  kind; 
we  always  hunger  for  sensation;  from  the 
security  of  a  warm  fire  the  imagination 
gloats  over  the  ardours  of  warfare  and  the 
splendours  and  agonies  of  adventure.  We 
like  to  feel  that  danger  overhangs  us;  we 
shiver  with  apprehensive  delight  beneath 
the  sword  of  Damocles.  We  like  to  be  told 
that  there  will  be  a  social  upheaval  within 

157 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

our  lifetime.  Perhaps  it  will  come  in  five 
years'  time.  Perhaps  to-morrow.  At  any 
rate,  to-day  we  are  secure.  And  it  was  in 
this  spirit  that  the  glamorous  web  was 
woven  round  that  first  escape. 

The  efforts  that  were  made  to  avoid 
suspicion  were  superb.  The  conspirators 
felt  that  anything  might  give  away  their 
secret.  Had  not  Sergeant  Cuff  found  at 
one  end  of  a  chain  of  evidence  a  murderer 
and  at  the  other  a  spot  of  ink  on  a  green 
baize  tablecloth?  and  so  they  left  nothing 
to  chance.  A  loose  board  beneath  the  stove 
served  as  an  admirable  hiding-place  for 
maps  and  plans.  And  in  consequence  our 
room  was  used  as  a  sort  of  general  dump. 

It  was  a  great  nuisance;  they  would  do 
the  mystery  stunt  so  very  thoroughly;  and 
it  w^as  such  a  noisy  business.  To  open  their 
underground  cupboard  a  few  nails  had  to 
be  abstracted,  and  a  few  wedges  applied. 
The  resultant  noise  would  have  woken  not 
the  least  suspicion  in  even  the  most  dis- 
trustful Teuton,  and  would  have  played  a 

158 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

very  insignificant  part  amid  all  the  accumu- 
lated turmoil  of  the  day.  But  no  risks 
must  be  run.  And  so  while  the  cupboard 
was  being  prized  open,  an  operation  that 
would  sometimes  take  over  ten  minutes,  one 
of  us  had  to  be  detailed  to  go  outside  and 
break  up  wood  so  as  to  disguise  the  noise. 
It  was  a  deafening  business,  that  occurred 
two  or  three  times  each  week;  and  it  did 
not  seem  as  if  the  contents  of  this  cupboard 
demanded  such  strict  secrecy.  I  once  asked 
what  they  kept  there. 

"  Only  a  few  papers,"  was  the  answer,  ''  a 
compass  and  provisions  for  the  journey." 

That  a  compass,  being  contraband,  should 
be  carefully  concealed,  I  could  well  under- 
stand. But  the  papers  consisted  of  a  field 
officer's  diary  and  a  few  maps  abstracted 
from  the  backs  of  a  German  Grammar; 
while  the  bag  of  provisions  contained  only 
those  delicacies  that  we  received  in  parcels, 
of  which  chocolate  formed  the  greater  part. 
And  a  more  unhealthy  place  to  store  it,  it 
would  be  hard  to  find. 

159 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  Look  here,"  I  said  one  day,  "  what's 
the  idea  of  keeping  that  chocolate  there  ?  " 

"  To  escape  with,  of  course.  Splendid 
stuff  for  giving  staying  power." 

"  But  why  can't  the  fellow  keep  it  in  his 
room  ?  " 

I  was  immediately  fixed  with  that  sort 
of  look  that  seems  to  say,  "  Good  Lord,  do 
such  fools  really  exist !  " 

"  My  good  man,"  he  said,  "  how  could 
he  keep  it  there  ?  It  would  give  the  whole 
show  away  at  once.  What  would  you  think, 
if  you  were  a  German  officer,  and  found  a 
big  sto^^e  of  chocolate  in  one  of  the  cupboards  ? 
Wliat  would  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

There  was  only  one  answer  to  that. 

"  That  the  ass  didn't  like  it,  I  suppose." 

But  my  remonstrance  was  useless,  and 
soon  I  began  to  regard  these  noises  and 
secrecies  as  part  of  the  inevitable  machinery 
of  prison  life. 


160 


How  We  did  not  Escape 
§  2 

The  first  attempt  savoured,  it  must  be 
confessed,  very  strongly  of  the  ludicrous. 
The  protagonists  were  three  colonels  who 
had  managed  to  provide  themselves  with 
German  money  and  with  suits  of  civilian 
clothes,  made,  so  it  was  reported,  out  of  dish- 
cloths. They  chose  as  their  headquarters 
a  room  situated  directly  above  the  main 
gate.  It  was  a  drop  of  some  forty  feet  to 
the  ground,  and  a  sentry  box  was  stationed 
immediately  underneath.  The  chances  of 
getting  away  were  in  consequence »  very 
small,  but  there  was,  at  any  rate,  no  need  for 
preliminary  manoeuvres  among  the  meshes 
of  wire  netting.  The  gallant  adventurers 
relied  solely  on  the  somnolence  of  the  sentry. 
It  was  a  cold,  rainy  night,  and  their  experi- 
ence of  guards  at  depots  might  well  have 
led  them  to  expect  a  certain  lack  of  enter- 
prise and  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  their 
warder.     Nor  were  they  disappointed. 

It  began  to  rain  heavily,  and  after  a  few 
M  161 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

deprecatory  glances  at  the  heavens,  the 
sentry  sat  down  in  his  box,  and  within  a 
few  moments  appeared  to  be  unconscious  of 
the  external  world.  From  the  window  of 
Block  I  a  rope  made  out  of  a  blanket  was 
immediately  lowered,  and  the  colonel  began 
his  precarious  descent. 

And  then  the  rain  stopped. 

The  sentry,  roused  apparently  by  the 
sudden  cessation  of  soimd,  blinked,  rubbed 
his  eyes,  and  cast  them  heavenwards,  and 
saw  midway  between  earth  and  sky  a  figure 
swinging  from  a  rope.  Well,  he  must  have 
been  something  of  a  philosopher,  that  sentry  : 
he  was  in  no  way  perturbed  by  the  appari- 
tion. He  rose  languidly  to  his  feet,  blew 
his  whistle  to  summon  the  guard,  and  waited 
patiently  at  the  foot  of  the  rope. 

It  must  have  been  a  very  amusing  spec- 
tacle. Very  slowly  and  very  gingerly,  hand 
imder  hand  the  colonel  descended,  and  when 
he  was  within  reaching  distance  the  sentry 
helped  him  very  gently  to  the  ground  and 
escorted  him  to  the  guardroom.     The  other 

162 


A    GAIiLANT   ATTEMPT   TO    ESCAPE. 


[To  face  page  162. 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

conspirators,  seeing  the  fate  of  their  chief, 
hastened  bedwards  with  all  possible  speed, 
and  when  the  orderly  officer  came  round  they 
imitated  with  considerable  ability  the  right- 
eous indignation  of  a  man  who  is  woken  up 
after  a  three  hours'  sleep. 

This  attempt  was  the  signal  for  frequent 
and  repeated  excursions.  The  lead  once 
given,  there  were  found  many  ready  to  follow 
it ;  and  there  was  considerable  comfort  in  the 
assurance  that  the  sentries  had  orders  not 
to  fire  unless  they  were  charged.  And  so 
for  the  remainder  of  our  captivity  the  camp 
buzzed  with  rumours. 

No  one  ever  got  away.  Occasionally  the 
first  strand  of  netting  was  penetrated,  but 
nothing  more ;  and  it  must  have  been  a  poor 
form  of  amusement."  For  the  desperadoes 
always  chose  a  night  of  rain  and  wind  in 
the  hope  that  the  sentries  might  have  sought 
consolation  within  their  huts,  and  it  can  have 
been  no  fun  crawling  on  one's  stomach, 
over  sodden  gravel,  getting  soaked  and  cold  ; 
and  as  the  night  of  capture  was  always  spent 

163 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

in  the  guardroom,  it  was  a  sport  that  can 
have  held  out  few  inducements. 

For  the  cowardly,  however,  it  did  add  a 
spice  and  flavour  to  existence.  On  these 
nights  of  danger  we  used  to  lie  awake  patiently- 
listening.  The  hours  would  drift  by.  Twelve 
o'clock,  one  o'clock,  it  looked  as  if  they  had 
got  away  after  all;  and  then,  sure  enough, 
would  come  the  alarm,  two  whistles  would 
shriek  loud  above  the  drip  of  the  rain,  there 
would  be  a  scurry  of  feet;  and  then  a  few 
minutes  later  we  would  see  the  unfortunate 
beings  escorted  to  the  cells.  .  .  .  We  would 
do  all  we  could  for  them ;  we  would  clamber 
on  to  the  window  sill  and  would  shout  our 
condolences ;  and  these  friendly  wishes  would 
on  the  next  day  as  likely  as  not  serve  as  an 
excuse  for  the  General  to  place  upon  us  some 
further  restriction,  as  punishment  for  what 
he  considered  an  unmannerly  exhibition  of 
independence. 

Of  these  bold  bids  for  freedom  none  stood 
any  very  real  chance  of  success,  and  towards 
the  end  they  became  somewhat  discredited, 

164 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

as  they  involved  certain  inconveniences  on 
those  who  had  resigned  themselves  to  their 
fate.  There  would  be  additional  roll-calls, 
and  precautions.  Whole  rooms  were  searched 
and  ransacked,  a  most  disagreeable  proceed- 
ing. And  on  one  occasion  the  attempt  was 
made  from  the  theatre,  which  led  to  the 
closing  of  that  hall  of  pleasure  during  an 
entire  morning  while  the  complete  staging 
apparatus  was  overhauled,  and  examined. 
This  caused  genuine  annoyance,  especially  as 
the  ravages  of  the  soldiery  delayed  for  three 
days  a  performance  that  had  been  the  centre 
of  much  curiosity  and  conjecture.  And  this 
annoyance  became  almost  indignation,  when 
it  transpired  that  this  herald  of  defiance  had 
provisioned  himself  for  his  long  journey  with 
nothing  more  substantial  than  a  tin  of 
skipper  sardines,  two  oxo  cubes,  and  a  tin 
of  mustard.  The  general  opinion  was  that 
if  a  man  was  "  such  a  damned  fool  as  to 
carry  that  sort  of  stuff  about  with  him,  he 
had  no  right  to  try  to  escape,  upsetting 
arrangements  and  all." 

165 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

And  on  this  type  of  sally  the  theatre 
incident  rang  down  the  curtain.  But  under 
this  category  it  is  impossible  to  number  the 
attempts  of  Colonel  Wright.  His  methods 
were  very  different;  they  were  not  showy; 
he  did  not  talk  about  what  he  was  going 
to  do.  And  as  a  result  he  very  nearly 
succeeded. 

The  chief  ingenuity  of  the  Scarlet  Pim- 
pernel lay,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  in  his 
grasp  of  the  fact  that  it  is  the  obvious  that 
evades  suspicion.  Sentries  are  on  the  look- 
out for  an  escape  by  night,  but  by  day  they 
are  off  their  guard.  And  working  on  this  plan, 
both  Colonel  Wright's  attempts  were  made 
by  daylight.  Indeed  they  were  both  so 
simple  that  in  cold  blood  they  looked  quite 
ridiculous.  The  first  attempt  failed  com- 
pletely, and  but  for  his  later  achievement, 
one  might  have  been  tempted  to  wonder  how 
the  gallant  colonel  could  have  expected  any 
different  result. 

Alone  of  the  Pitt  Escape  League  he  literally 
did  not  progress  a  yard ;   not  one  foot  did  he 

166 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

advance.  In  broad  daylight  he  was  arrested 
where  he  stood,  or  rather,  where  he  sat,  for 
it  was  in  that  position  that  he  was  discovered. 

The  plan  was  not  elaborate.  Once  a  week 
a  cart  from  the  laundry  came  to  collect 
dirty  linen  from  the  camp  and  take  it  away 
to  be  cleaned.  And  to  keep  a  check  on  the 
returns,  a  British  orderly  always  went  with 
it.  Colonel  Wright's  scheme  was  to  imper- 
sonate the  orderly,  to  get  himself  conducted 
safely  outside  the  gates,  and  once  there  to 
rely  on  his  own  speed  and  ingenuity  to  effect 
an  escape.  It  might  have  come  off;  there 
was  an  outside  chance,  remote  certainly,  but 
still  a  chance;  however,  he  was  given  no 
opportunity  of  gauging  his  share  of  the  two 
requisite  abilities.  It  is  true  he  got  into  the 
cart  and  sat  quietly  in  a  far  corner;  but 
before  even  the  harness  had  begun  to  jingle, 
he  had  been  recognised  and  arrested.  A 
grey  business,  but  he  was  in  no  wise  daunted. 
And  within  a  few  weeks  he  had  his  hand  to 
the  wheel  again. 

His  second  scheme  was  considerably  more 
167 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

elaborate,  but  was  none  the  less  sufficiently 
obvious.  Zero  hour  was  fixed  for  half-past 
five,  and  at  five  o'clock  in  a  far  corner  of 
the  square  preparations  were  begun  for  a 
boxing  match.  Towels  and  chairs  were  set 
out,  sponges  and  bowls  of  water  appeared, 
and  two  brawny  Scotsmen  shivered  in  great- 
coats. There  had  been  no  previous  notice 
of  this  engagement,  but  interest  was  speedily 
kindled,  and  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
quite  a  large  crowd  had  assembled.  The 
close  of  the  opening  round  was  the  signal 
for  a  marked  display  of  enthusiasm.  And 
it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  second  round 
that  Colonel  Wright  made  his  dash.  No  one 
noticed  him.  The  sentries  were  absorbed 
in  the  boxing,  and  those  whose  attentions 
showed  signs  of  wandering  were  engaged  in 
conversation  by  two  field  officers  who  could 
speak  German.  And  Colonel  Wright,  clad  in 
a  suit  of  civilian  clothes,  cut  through  the 
wire  netting  of  the  first  entanglement,  and 
dashed  across  the  open.  In  a  few  seconds 
he  had  swarmed  over  the  second  series  and 

168 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

was  out  of  sight.  It  was  a  most  daring  and 
brilliant  piece  of  work.  All  that  remained 
for  him  now  was  to  lie  till  nightfall  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  Then  when  it  was 
dark  he  could  choose  an  auspicious  moment 
and  lower  himself  to  the  groimd. 

It  was  a  plan  that  certainly  deserved 
success,  and  as  the  hours  passed  we  began 
to  hope  that  some  one  had  at  last  got  clean 
away.  There  was  some  anxiety  lest  his 
absence  should  be  spotted  at  roll-call,  but 
when  nine  o'clock  came  and  went,  we  felt 
that  all  was  well.  And  then  just  before  ten 
o'clock  the  two  whistle  blasts  rang  out. 
Colonel  Wright  had  been  retaken. 

And  if  the  story  that  we  heard  afterwards 
is  true,  chance  was  outrageously  unkind.  He 
had  waited  till  it  was  quite  dark,  and  had 
carefully  watched  for  the  moment  when  the 
beat  of  the  outside  sentry  carried  his  warders 
out  of  earshot.  He  had  then  lowered  him- 
self from  the  wall ;  and  it  was  here  that  his 
luck  deserted  him.  For  a  couple  of  lovers 
had    selected    that    particular    part    of  the 

169 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

battlements  as  a  shelter  for  their  amorous 
dalliance.  And  the  point  at  which  Colonel 
Wright  would  have  landed  was  removed 
from  them  by  scarcely  a  dozen  yards.  He 
was  instantly  detected.  Yet,  with  a  very 
little  luck,  things  might  still  have  tm^ned  out 
favourably;  for  the  man,  who  seemed  suffi- 
ciently intrigued  with  his  partner,  gave  him 
only  a  ciu*sory  glance  and  returned  to  the 
matter  in  hand;  but  the  woman,  with  an 
eye  to  advertisement,  characteristic  of  her 
sex,  gave  expression  to  her  feelings  in  a 
series  of  piercing  shrieks.  Colonel  Wright 
was  instantly  arrested. 

The  sentries  found  on  him  a  hundred 
marks  of  German  money,  and  a  railway 
ticket  to  Frankfurt.  And  if  he  could  only 
have  got  clear  of  the  camp,  I  believe  he 
would  have  had  little  difficulty  in  getting 
to  the  frontier.  For  he  spoke  German  excel- 
lently and  had  friends  in  that  part  of  the 
country.  He  had  also  the  nerve  and  inge- 
nuity which  alone  could  have  rendered  such 
a  feat  possible.     This  the  authorities  must 

170 


How  We  did  not  Escape 

have  realised;  for  a  few  days  later  he  was 
moved  to  another  camp.  What  he  did 
there,  we  do  not  know.  But  rumour  has 
it  that  on  the  journey  he  made  three  more 
attempts  to  break  away.  And  doubtless  in 
a  camp  with  fewer  natural  defences  he  would 
sooner  or  later  have  succeeded  in  outwitting 
his  captors. 

But  as  regards  Mainz  the  gloomy  record 
of  its  impregnability  still  stands.  At  one 
time  or  another  it  has  been  the  temporary 
home  of  Russians,  French  and  English;  all 
three  have  in  their  turn  tried  to  escape,  and 
all  have  failed.  After  four  years  of  warfare 
Mainz  is  still  the  inviolable  citadel. 


171 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    ALCOVE 

Each  week  the  Pitt  League  posted  up 
on  the  walls  of  the  theatre  a  notice  of  the 
times  and  places  of  the  various  classes  that 
were  to  be  held.  There  were  some  six  rooms 
at  th^  disposal  of  this  enterprising  society. 
There  was  the  attic  at  the  top  of  Block  I, 
a  noisy  room  because  the  dramatic  society 
would  probably  be  found  rehearsing  next 
door;  then  there  was  the  theatre,  an  im- 
possible room;  in  the  first  place  because 
it  was  too  big,  and  in  the  second  because 
the  scenic  artists  behind  the  curtain  carried 
on  a  continual  dialogue  to  the  tune  of: 
"  Where  is  that  blue  paint  ?  "  "  Have  you 
put  up  the  wings  ?  "  "  Where  the  hell's  the 
hammer  ?  "  which  dialogue  the  scene -shifters 
accompanied  with  suitable  crashes  and  land- 
slides.    It  was  a  poor  room  for  study— the 

172 


The  Alcove 

theatre ;  and  then  there  was  the  field  officers' 
dining-room— that  was  not  too  bad.  But 
one  window-pane  was  missing,  and  there 
was  no  heating  apparatus,  and  the  orderlies 
were  always  wanting  to  lay  the  plates; 
altogether  there  was  not  a  superfluity  of 
spare  space ;  there  was  really  only  one 
decent  room — the  Alcove — and  that  was  for 
one  hour  of  the  day  allotted  to  the  botanists 
and  anatomists.  For  the  rest  of  the  time 
an  agenda  at  the  bottom  of  the  Pitt  League 
poster  announced  that  "  the  Alcove  was 
reserved  for  authors,  architects  and  other 
students." 

The  Alcove  was  a  small  room  opening  out  of 
the  billiard-room,  and  its  possession  by  the 
"  authors,  architects  and  other  students  "  was 
a  privilege  jealously  guarded.  Not  that  we 
ever  resorted  to  force,  the  mere  strength  of 
personality  was  sufficient.  A  few  acid  epi- 
grams drove  the  intruders  away  with  the  im- 
pression that  after  all  there  were  limatics  in 
the  camp.  Only  one  man  stayed  for  more 
than  an  hour,  and  that  was  Captain  Frobisher, 

173 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

a  large,  fat  man  who  was  doubtless  an  ex- 
cellent soldier,  but  who  was  not  an  addition 
to  a  literary  society  that  prided  itself  upon 
its  exclusiveness.  After  all,  when  one  is 
searching  for  a  lost  rhyme,  or  trying  to 
make  an  honest  scene  sufficiently  obscure 
to  protect  Canon  Lyttelton's  delicate  sus- 
ceptibilities, it  is  disconcerting  to  have  to 
listen  to  a  conversation  of  this  sort : — 

"...  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  new 
offensive,  Skipper  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  wipe  the  swine  off  the  face  of 
the  earth.  I  hope  our  men  don't  take  too 
many  prisoners.  There's  only  one  sort  of 
Hun  that's  any  use,  and  that's  a  dead  one. 
Excreta,  that's  all  they  are,  excreta.  .  .  . 
What  I  say  is,  smash  'em,  and  then  when 
they're  down  tread  on  'em.  That's  all  they're 
fit  for.     A  good  Hun  is  a  dead  Hun." 

Of  course  such  rhetoric  is  excellent  in  its 
place,  and  in  the  mouth  of  a  politician 
would  appear  as  the  supreme  unction  shed 
over  the  warring  banners  of  humanity.  But 
there  are  times  .... 
174 


The  Alcove 

Frobisher  must  go.  We  all  decided  that. 
The  only  difficulty  was  that  .  .  .  well, 
even  in  confinement  one  must  show  respect 
to  a  senior  officer.  It  would  have  to  be 
done  with  considerable  tact;  we  could 
hardly  approach  him  ourselves.  We  sup- 
posed that  if  he  really  wanted,  he  could 
defend  himself  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
a  student,  a  student  of  the  philosophical 
interpretation  of  a  dozen  cocktails.  But 
yet  he  had  to  go.  And  finally  Stone  imder- 
took  the  job. 

It  took  two  bottles  of  Rhine  wine  to  screw 
him  up  to  the  proper  pitch,  but  we  got  him 
there  at  last ;  and  nobly  did  he  fulfil  our  trust. 
It  was  an  imforgettable  afternoon.  Captain 
Frobisher  was  sitting  at  the  middle  table 
discussing  over  a  bottle  of  wine  his  schemes 
for  the  entire  destruction  of  the  German 
race.  The  old  saws  were  rolling  smoothly 
from  his  tongue. 

"  We  must  let  them  have  it ;  what  I  say 
is,  starve  them  out,  bomb  their  towns, 
confiscate  their  colonies;    then  make  them 

175 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

pay  right  up  to  the  hilt,  a  crushing  in- 
demnity. They'd  have  done  the  same  to  us. 
An  eye  for  an  eye.  That's  the  principle  we 
must  work  on,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth."  Even 
a  patriotic  bishop  could  not  have  been  more 
humanely  vindictive. 

And  then  we  led  in  Stone. 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table  nearest 
to  the  captain;  his  huge  head  of  hair  was 
flung  back  in  a  wild  profusion,  his  shirt 
was  open  at  the  throat,  he  looked  for  all 
the  world  like  a  second  Byron.  And  for  the 
space  of  an  hoiu*  he  lectured  on  the  higher 
life.  As  a  testimony  to  the  potency  of  the 
Rhine  vintage,  it  was  without  parallel.  It 
was  a  noble  exposition. 

He  began  with  Schopenhauer;  the  jargon 
of  metaphysics  reeled  into  anacolutha  :  the 
absolute,  the  negation  of  the  will ;  the  thing 
in  itself;  phenomena,  and  the  real.  The 
mind  was  dazed  with  the  conflicting  theories 
of  causation,  and  after  each  soimding  perora- 
tion he  recited  in  a  crooning  monotone  the 
less  cheerful  musings  of  the  Shropshire  Lad ; 

176 


The  Alcove 

while  we,  entering  into  his  mood,  gazed  up 
at  him  with  enraptured  eyes,  murmuring  : 
''  Delightful !     Oh,  delightful !  " 

Captain  Frobisher  fidgeted  nervously  on 
his  form,  he  moved  first  to  one  extremity, 
then  to  another.  Periodically  he  attempted 
a  conversation  with  his  companion;  but 
every  time  he  began,  Stone  broke  into  a 
state  of  fervour  more  than  usually  impas- 
sioned, and  Frobisher's  attention  was  irre- 
sistibly drawn  towards  this  strange  creature 
who  had  emerged  suddenly  out  of  a  world 
he  did  not  know.  Stone  realised  his  tradi- 
tional conception  of  the  romantic  poet,  the 
long-haired,  sprawling,  effervescent  creature 
that  he  had  never  seen,  but  that  he  had  been 
told  the  war  had  killed.  And  here  into  the 
very  centre  of  Mainz,  into  this  home  of 
militarism,  was  introduced  the  loathsome 
atmosphere  of  Paris  and  the  Cafe  Royal, 
this  impleasant  reincarnation  of  the  hectic 
nineties. 

For  an  hour  he  stood  it,  and  then  Stone 
arrived  at  the  point  to  which  all  his  previous 
N  177 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

eloquence  had  led.  "I  don't  know,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  thought  it  out  for  a  long  time, 
but  I  am  still  uncertain  as  to  which  of  all 
the  collective  emotions  has  done  most  harm, 
has  wrought  most  damage  to  the  suffering 
individual.  Once  I  thought  it  was  religion, 
religion  with  its  bigotry  and  ritual,  its  con- 
fessional and  chains;  but  during  the  last 
four  years  I  have  been  sorely  tempted— 
sorely  tempted,  my  dear  Waugh — to  believe 
that  of  all  the  evils  that  can  befall  a  com- 
munity, there  is  none  worse  than  the  scourge 
of  Patriotism." 

It  was  the  limit,  beyond  which  even  the 
endurance  of  a  soldier  could  not  pass.  Cap- 
tain Frobisher  threw  at  Stone  one  glance 
charged  with  distrust,  and  strode  from  the 
room.  He  never  entered  it  again;  and  the 
"  authors,  architects  and  other  students  " 
were  able  to  return  to  earth,  and  become 
once  more  respectable  citizens. 

Of  the  architects  and  other  students  we 
saw  very  little.  Occasionally  a  linguist 
would  drift  in  with  a  conversation  gi-ammar 

178 


The  Alcove 

and  a  notebook,  and  sometimes  a  financier 
would  draw  up  tables  of  expenditure  and 
loss,  but  on  the  whole  the  Alcove  was  the 
property  of  "  Wordsmiths." 

There  were  about  five  of  us  in  all,  and  as 
soon  as  aj^pel  was  over  we  used  to  proceed 
towards  the  billiard-room  laden  with  pens 
and  paper.  At  this  early  hour  there  were 
usually  not  more  than  three  of  us,  as  Tarrant 
and  Stone  preferred  to  take  breakfast  at  a 
later  hour;  but  Milton  Hayes  was  invari- 
ably to  be  found  there,  embellishing  lyrics, 
or  putting  the  final  touches  to  his  musical 
comedy,  and  in  the  intervals  of  production 
expounding  his  latest  aesthetic  theories. 

A  vivid  contrast  was  presented  by  Tarrant 
and  Stone.  With  popular  taste  they  were 
both  equally  unconcerned.  Relative  merit 
interested  them  not  at  all;  their  standards 
were  deep-laid  and  inelastic. 

Tarrant  usually  appeared  in  the  Alcove 
at  about  one  o'clock,  and  observed  a  ritual 
that  would  with  any  one  else  have  savom^ed 
of  affectation,  but  was  with  him  perfectly 

179 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

natural.  Nature  had  endowed  him  with 
generous  proportions,  more  built  for  comfort 
than  for  speed;  and  he  accentuated  the 
natural  roll  of  his  gait  by  his  strange  foot- 
wear. A  pair  of  field  boots  had  been 
abbreviated  into  shoes  by  the  camp  cobbler 
in  such  a  way  as  to  admit  of  the  insertion 
of  two  fingers  between  the  leather  and  the 
instep.  To  keep  them  on  his  feet  as  he 
walked,  Tarrant  had  to  resort  to  a  straddle 
that  was  one  of  the  features  of  camp  life. 
And  as  he  entered  he  bulked  largely  in  the 
door  of  the  Alcove,  marvellously  shod,  carry- 
ing under  one  arm  a  dictionary,  a  notebook 
and  a  Thesaurus,  and  over  the  other  a 
cardigan  waistcoat  and  a  green  velvet  scarf. 
He  flimg  his  books  noisily  on  the  table 
and  then  proceeded  to  array  himself  for  the 
ardours  of  composition.  He  first  of  all 
divested  himself  of  his  collar  and  tie,  and 
wrapped  round  his  throat  the  green  velvet 
scarf,  that  would  have  lain  more  appropri- 
ately as  a  stole  on  the  shoulders  of  an  eccle- 
siastic than  it  did  as  a  muffler  on  those  of  a 

180 


The  Alcove 

Gefangener,  engaged  on  a  psychological  study 
of  seduction.  Tarrant  then  removed  his  tmiic, 
disclosing  a  woollen  waistcoat,  over  which 
he  proceeded  to  draw  the  second  woollen 
coat  that  he  had  brought  with  him.  He  ex- 
plained that  they  brought  him  physical  ease. 

"  You  see,  old  man,"  he  said,  "  it's  not 
much  use  my  mind  being  free,  if  my  limbs 
are  encased  in  even  the  loosest  of  military 
tunics." 

He  then  proceeded  to  work. 

Every  writer,  of  course,  has  his  own  par- 
ticular foible,  and  Tarrant's  was  an  appalling 
accuracy  in  gauging  the  exact  number  of 
words  that  he  had  written.  Most  writers 
are  quite  content  to  add  up  the  number  of 
lines  in  a  page,  then  find  the  average  number 
of  words  in  a  line  and  multiply.  But  Tar- 
rant would  have  none  of  these  slipshod 
methods. 

"  On  that  principle,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose 
you'd  call  a  line  a  line  whether  it  goes  right 
across  the  page  or  not  ?  " 

''  Yes,"  I  confessed. 
181 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

He  gave  a  grunt  of  contempt. 

"  And  then  you  say  The  Loom  of  Youth 
is  110,000  words  long;  why,  half  the  lines 
you  call  ten  words  long  only  consist  of  two 
words — *  Bloody  Hell.'  That's  not  the  way 
to  do  things." 

And  so  Tarrant  laboriously  added  up 
every  word.  It  became  quite  a  mania  with 
him.  So  much  so,  in  fact,  that  he  used  to 
embark  on  long  discussions  as  to  the  deriva- 
tion of  amalgamated  words,  and  whether 
"  lunch-time  "  should  count  as  two  or  one. 
For  his  rough  draft  he  kept  beside  him  a  small 
slip  of  paper,  on  which  at  the  end  of  each 
sentence  he  used  to  make  mathematical 
calculations,  that  reminded  me  of  school 
cricket,  the  scoring  box,  and  the  attempt  to 
keep  level  with  the  tens. 

Correction  involved  much  labour.  At  the 
end  of  the  sentence  he  might  have  noted 
down  277  words.  Then  he  would  revise; 
half  a  clause  consisting  of  eight  words  would 
be  omitted,  and  on  the  slip  of  paper  down 
went  269.     Then  a  celibate  noun  called  for 

182 


The  Alcove 

an  adjectival  mate,  and  270  was  hoisted  amid 
applause.  It  was  an  amusing  game,  but  it 
took  up  a  great  deal  of  time.  Very  rarely 
did  Tarrant  produce  more  than  400  words 
as  the  result  of  three  hours'  work,  and  his 
absolute  maximum  for  a  day  was  1100. 

"  All  great  men  work  slowly,"  he  said. 
"  Flaubert  took  seven  years  over  Madame 
Bovary,  and  I  shall  take  only  a  year  over 
this,"  and  with  a  sudden  sweep  he  flashed  the 
discussion  back  on  to  his  pet  subject  of  words. 

"  You  see,  I've  done  48,374  words,  and 
there  are  three  more  chapters  of  approxi- 
mately 3000  words  each.  Now  will  that  be 
enough  ? " 

I  told  him  that  Mr.  Grant  Richards  had 
stipulated  in  one  of  his  weekly  advertise- 
ments, that  if  he  liked  a  book,  it  could  range 
between  the  limits  of  45,000  and  200,000 
words,  and  Tarrant  once  more  returned 
peacefully  to  his  addition. 

Stone,  Tarrant's  constant  companion 
through   the   tedium    of   eighteen    mionths' 

188 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

imprisonment,  was  chiefly  conspicuous  for 
his  conversation.  Nobody  ever  actually  saw 
him  writing,  or  had  indeed  read  anything 
he  had  written,  but  he  always  caiTied  about 
with  him  a  notebook,  that  gave  the  impres- 
sion that  he  had  either  just  risen  from  his 
labours,  or  was  merely  waiting  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment.  As  a  scholar  and  a 
critic  he  was  easily  the  most  brilliant  of 
our  little  circle,  and  it  was  delightful  to  hear 
him  dethrone  the  idols  of  the  twentieth 
century.  He  had  very  little  use  for  any 
critic  since  Pater,  or  any  novelist  since 
Sterne.  Of  the  modern  novelists  he  main- 
tained that  the  only  two  worth  considering 
were  H.  H.  Richardson  and  Arnold  Bennett, 
though  to  Gilbert  Cannan  he  extended  a 
hand  of  deprecatory  welcome.  Wells  was 
the  chief  target  of  his  wit. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  him,"  he 
used  to  say.  "  Sometimes  I  think  we  may 
almost  excuse  him  on  the  gromid  that  if  he 
had  not  written  the  New  Machiavelli,  Perkins 
and  Mankind  would  not  exist.     But,  really, 

184 


The  Alcove 

as  I  read  his  recent  stuff,  Marriage,  The  Soul 
of  a  Bishop,  Joan  and  Peter,  why,  Max  has 
ceased  to  be  the  parodist  of  Wells,  Wells 
has  become  the  parodist  of  Max." 

As  an  actual  "  Wordsmith  "  Stone  enjoyed 
a  reputation  something  similar  to  that  of 
Theodore  Watts.  One  felt  that  he  had  only 
to  publish  what  he  had  written,  and  he 
would  receive  world-wide  recognition.  In 
the  notebook  that  never  left  him,  he  was 
supposed  to  carry  the  key  that  should  unlock 
his  heart.  There  lay  two  completed  poems, 
and  a  tenth  of  a  novel.  But  they  were  quite 
illegible.  None  of  us  ever  saw  them.  Occa- 
sionally when  the  influence  of  Rhine  wine 
had  somewhat  weakened  the  phenomenal 
barrier  that  separated  Stone's  mentality 
from  the  real  world  of  his  metaphysics,  he 
would  promise  to  inscribe  them  for  us  in  the 
morning  in  the  full  indelibility  of  purple 
pencil.  Once  he  even  went  so  far  as  to 
recite  one  of  them;  but  the  words  came  to 
us  droningly  sweet  through  a  mist  of  in- 
audibility,   and    there     remains    only    the 

185 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

recollection  of  certain  sounding  words,  a 
low  murmur  as  of  a  distant  waterfall.  In 
the  morning  all  the  promises  were  forgotten, 
and  sometimes  I  have  been  tempted  to 
wonder  w^hether  those  poems  had  any  real 
existence  in  the  sphere  of  phenomena.  Stone 
was  so  at  the  mercy  of  his  metaphysics,  he 
indulged  in  expeditions  into  a  world  whither 
I  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  ability  to 
follow  him,  and  perhaps  he  merely  imagined 
those  two  poems  as  some  manifestation  of 
that  inexplicable  "  Thing  -  in  -  itself  "  over 
which  he  was  so  concerned.  Perhaps  they 
had  no  counterpart  in  that  draggled  note- 
book; and  though  it  is  quite  possible  that 
some  day  we  shall  see  those  poems  immortally 
enshrined  in  vellum,  personally  I  rather 
doubt  it. 

Those  hours  in  the  Alcove  contain  all  I 
personally  would  wish  to  remember  of  my 
captivity.  It  was  a  delightful  room,  with 
its  white  tables  and  windows  opening  on  the 
fowl-run ;  it  was  a  perfect  place  in  which  to 
write.     The  click  of  billiard  balls,  and  the 

186 


The  Alcove 

murmurous  rise  and  fall  of  inaudible  con- 
versations provided  the  ideal  setting  for 
thought.  Personally  I  can  never  write  in 
a  room  that  is  quite  silent;  its  isolation 
frightens  me,  and  through  an  open  window 
I  listen  in  vain  for  the  indistinct  noises  of 
humanity. 

And  then  towards  evening,  when  the 
labours  of  the  day  were  ended,  we  would  sit 
together  round  a  bottle  of  a  villainous  brand 
of  Laubenheimer  and  discuss  the  merits  of 
Tchecov  and  de  Maupassant.  Long  con- 
tests were  waged  there  on  the  vexed  problems 
of  aesthetics;  the  limits  of  dramatic  art, 
vers  libre,  the  function  of  criticism.  All 
these  in  their  turn  passed  through  the  sieve 
of  dialectic.  At  times  even  captivity  seemed 
a  pleasant  business,  so  full  of  leisure  was  it, 
after  the  bustle  of  the  months  that  had 
preceded  it.  And  no  doubt  years  hence, 
when  the  rough  outlines  have  become  gently 
blurred  against  a  harmonious  background, 
we  shall  cast  a  glamour  over  those  lazy  days, 
and  see  in  them  a  realisation  of  Bohemian 

187 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

dreams,  of  a  Paris  cafe  and  Verlaine  lean- 
ing over  a  white  table-cloth  declaiming  his 
lovely  valedictory  lines.  And  perhaps  Time, 
that  great  alchemist,  may  even  go  so  far 
as  to  transmute  that  foul  white  wine  into 
the  purest  absinthe.  We  shall  think  of 
Dowson  and  the  Cheshire  Cheese,  of  the 
Rhymers'  Club  and  the  delightful  artifice 
of  the  nineties,  and  we  shall  claim  companion- 
ship with  those  brave  innovators  to  whom 
a  finished  work  of  art  was  a  sufficient  recom- 
pense for  their  weariness.  But  within  it 
was  not  really  like  that;  and  as  Pater  has 
said,  no  doubt  that  ideal  period  of  artistic 
endeavour  has  never  had  any  existence 
outside  the  imagination  of  the  dreamer, 
sick  with  a  sort  of  far-away  nostalgia,  a 
vague  longing  for  wider  prospects  and  less 
narrowing  horizons.  Every  generation  has 
flung  its  eyes  backwards  over  the  past,  and 
thought  "if  it  had  only  been  then  that  we 
had  lived— then,  when  the  values  of  life  were 
still  clear  and  simple,"  and  round  certain 
names  and  ages  there  has  been  woven  in  con- 

188 


The  Alcove 

sequence  the  thin  gossamer  of  Romance,  and 
the  artist  has  found  comfort  in  his  conception 
of  a  world  that  has  been  passed  by.  From 
these  backward  glances  and  averted  faces 
has  emerged  much  that  will  never  pass — 
Thais  and  Salambo,  Henry  Esmond  and 
Marius  the  Epicurean. 

During  the  last  three  years  I  have  often 
wished  that  I  had  been  born  thirty  years 
earlier,  at  a  time  when  the  influence  of 
French  literature  was  making  itself  so  keenly 
felt,  and  when  Verlaine  was  the  light  about 
the  young  men's  feet.  It  is  a  glamorous 
world  that  we  catch  glimpses  of  through 
the  opening  doors  of  Mr.  George  Moore's 
confessions.  But  I  suppose  that  really  it 
would  not  have  been  so  very  wonderful 
after  all,  and  that  those  delicate  creatures 
whose  feet  moved  through  Symons's  verse  to 
a  continual  rustle  of  silk  and  cambric,  were 
probably  the  most  tawdry  of  grisettes,  and 
those  Paris  cafes  and  the  many-coloured 
glasses  of  liqueur,  they  were  very  much  like 
the  Alcove,  I  expect;  and  the  Alcove  is  a 

189 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

place  where  no  one  would  wish  to  sojourn 
indefinitely. 

But  we  shall  always  look  back  at  it  with 
some  affection.  We  spent  there  many  happy 
hours,  and  there  the  weariness  of  captivity 
was  relieved  by  the  human  comradeship 
that  alone  makes  life  endurable.  We  shall 
not  easily  forget  how,  when  the  billiard-room 
was  closed  for  the  night,  we  used  to  step 
out  into  the  square,  just  as  the  sunset  was 
flooding  it  with  an  amber  haze,  and  walk 
beneath  the  chestnuts,  prolonging  the  con- 
versations of  the  afternoon,  until  the  cracked 
bell  and  waking  lights  drove  us  back  to 
the  barracks.  I  shall  never  forget  those 
evenings.  Probably  never  before  was  the 
citadel — that  home  of  militarism — ^the  scene 
of  so  much  artistic  discussion;  and  it  may 
be  that  in  after  days  our  ghosts  will  linger 
roimd  those  memorial  places,  and  that  on 
some  quiet  evening  two  tenuous  and  un- 
gainly forms  will  be  seen  swinging  down  the 
avenue  beneath  the  chestnuts— 

"Dans  le  vieux  pare  solitaire  et  glacee," 
190 


The  Alcove 

and  the  sentries  of  some  Jager  regiment 
will  catch  the  sound  of  thin  voices  floating 
across  the  night.  They  will  be  still  arguing 
over  the  same  old  questions,  those  two  foolish 
ghosts,  those  questions  whose  solution  the 
rest  of  the  world  has  long  since  decided  to 
ignore. 

''  But  look  here  now,  honestly,  surely 
Brooke  is  not  too  bad ;  listen  to  this  ..." 
and  the  faint  words  of  "  Mamua  "  would  be 
borne  over  last  year's  leaves. 

But  the  elder  ghost  would  shake  his  head ; 
and  a  thin  reedy  voice  would  pipe— 

"  No,  it  won't  do,  old  man,  won't  do, 
only  a  whispering  gallery."  And  they  would 
pass  on,  still  arguing,  still  differing,  and  still, 
apparently,  very  good  friends. 

And  the  two  German  sentries  would  look 
at  one  another  sympathetically. 

"  Kriegs-gefangeners,  Fritz,"  one  would 
say,  "  captured  in  the  great  war.  There 
were  a  lot  of  'em  here,  and  those  two,  you'll 
always  see  them  walkin'  up  and  down  there 
talking  the  most  awful  rot,  all  about  poetry 

191 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

and  things.  Poor  fellows  !  probably  a 
little  wrong  in  the  head,  they  were,  a  bit 
maddish  you  know;  they  look  a  bit  that 
way." 

And  it  is  not  for  me  to  deny  it. 


192 


CHAPTER  XII 

HOW    WE    AMUSED    OURSELVES 
§    1 

In  only  one  province  did  Colonel  Westeott, 
our  genial  factotum,  place  a  voluntary  check 
upon  his  own  activities.  His  sphere,  he 
decided,  was  confined  within  the  elastic 
boundaries  of  education,  moral  conduct  and 
Pan-Saxon  philosophy.  And  he  accepted 
these  limitations  with  the  quiet  resignation 
of  one  who  owns  three-quarters  of  the  globe, 
and  deems  the  remainder  to  be  a  land  of 
frost  and  snow.  In  other  hands  he  laid 
the  responsibilities  of  the  sports  and  enter- 
tainments committees.  And  for  this  reason, 
perhaps,  they  were  the  two  most  productive 
bodies. 

For  the  average  Gefangener,  however,  games 
were  hard  to  get.  Germany  is  not  athletic 
in  the  sense  that  we  are.  Militarism  has 
o  193 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

made  muscular  development  the  supreme 
good  of  all  outdoor  exercises,  and  in  con- 
sequence the  authorities  thought  they  had 
sufficiently  catered  for  our  physical  pro- 
pensities by  the  erection  of  a  horizontal 
bar,  and  the  largess  of  some  iron  weights. 
Well,  that  is  hardly  our  idea  of  sport ;  and 
as  a  nation  I  do  not  think  we  shall  ever 
show^  much  enthusiasm  for  Swedish  drill, 
P.T.,  trapezes,  and  the  various  devices  of  a 
gymnasium,  that  leave  so  little  room  for 
individuality.  The  allegiance  to  a  green 
field  and  a  leather  ball,  small  or  big  as  the 
season  demands,  will  not  be  shaken.  And 
at  Mainz  there  were  neither  green  fields  nor 
leather  balls. 

The  gravel  square  was  the  only  open  space 
we  had,  and  it  was  uncommonly  hard  to  fall 
on.  There  was  one  football  in  the  camp, 
belonging  to  an  orderly,  that  was  from  time 
to  time  the  centre  of  an  exhilarating  display. 
But  it  was  a  dangerous  pastime;  every 
game  resulted  in  at  least  three  injm*ies,  and 
a  scraped  elbow  was  no  joke  in  a  country 

194 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

devoid  of  medicine.  Only  the  very  daring 
played,  and  soon  most  of  them  were 
*' crocked." 

For  a  month  hockey  enjoyed  an  ephemeral 
popularity,  and  a  league  was  arranged,  in 
which  nearly  every  room  entered  a  side. 
While  they  lasted  those  games  were  great  fun, 
and  they  were  capital  exercise.  But  before 
very  long  all  the  sticks  had  been  smashed, 
and  all  efforts  to  replace  them  were  unavail- 
ing, and  though  a  few  individuals  who  had  had 
sticks  sent  out  from  England  were  able  to  get 
an  occasional  game,  for  the  great  mass  of  us 
hockey  ceased  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  begun. 

The  only  other  game  was  tennis.  As 
there  is  no  rubber  in  Germany,  this  had  to 
be  delayed  till  the  late  summer,  by  which 
time  balls  and  racquets  had  arrived  from 
England.  But  what  is  one  court  among 
six  hundred  ?  Only  a  very  limited  section 
of  the  camp  could  play,  and  those  whose 
abilities  were  slight  did  not  feel  themselves 
justified  in  engaging  the  court  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  their  more  able  brethren.     And  the 

195 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

whole  business  really  amounted  to  this  : 
that  although  a  newcomer  to  the  camp 
would  see  the  square  at  nearly  all  moments 
of  the  day  occupied  by  some  game  or  other, 
for  the  average  Gefangener  the  athletic 
world  did  not  exist.  His  sole  form  of 
exercise  was  the  grey  constitutional  round 
the  square ;  and  just  before  the  closing  of 
the  gates  at  night,  it  was  as  if  a  living  tube 
was  being  moved  round  within  the  wire. 
Five  hundred  odd  officers  were  walking  in 
couples  roimd  a  square,  with  a  circumference 
of  four  hundred  yards;  words  cannot  give 
an  impression  which  can  only  be  caught  in 
terms  of  paint.  For  the  populace  billiards 
was  the  one  athletic  outlet. 

And  as  the  two  chief  resources  of  the 
average  subaltern  are  athletics  and  the 
theatre,  this  suppression  of  one  channel, 
diverted  to  the  stage  the  entire  enthusiasm 
of  the  camp.  Of  course  each  of  us  thinks 
his  own  little  part  of  the  world  the  best: 
our  school,  our  company,  our  battalion,  they 
seem  to  each  individual  one  of  us  perfect 

196 


y  -^ 


1  -^y-s 


^1,8A;;^; 


FIVE    HUNDRED    ODD    OFFICERS    WALKING    ROUND    THE    SQUARE. 

[To  face  page  196. 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

and  unique.  It  is  only  natural  that  we 
should  think  the  P.O.W.  Theatre,  Mainz, 
the  absolute  Alhambra  of  the  Gefangenen- 
lagers.  However  bad  our  shows  had  been 
we  should  have  thought  them  supreme. 
But  really,  considering  that  every  costume 
had  to  be  improvised,  every  piece  of  scenery 
painted  on  flimsy  paper,  and  that  female 
attire  was  impurchasable,  I  do  not  think 
that  its  shows  could  have  been  better  staged. 
Certainly  the  scenic  effects  towards  the  end 
of  our  captivity  were  better  than  anything 
one  would  have  seen  at  a  provincial 
pantomime,  though  that  is  in  itself  hardly  a 
recommendation . 

Programmes  began  modestly  enough  in 
the  days  of  soup  and  sauerkraut.  We  were 
hungry  then  and  had  little  spare  vitality. 
But  a  concert  party  was  formed  that  called 
itself  the  **  Pows,"  and  which  gave  perform- 
ances every  Saturday.  There  were  many 
difficulties,  the  chief  one  being  an  entire 
lack  of  revue  music.  In  order  to  get  a  song 
the   aid   of  many   had   to   be    invoked.     A 

197 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

committee  of  six  would  sit  round  a  table 
trying  to  remember  the  words  of  "  We've 
got  a  little  Cottage  "  or  "  When  Paderewski 
plays."  Each  person  remembered  a  stray 
line  or  phrase,  and  gradually  like  a  jigsaw 
puzzle  the  fabric  was  completed.  And  then 
the  music  had  to  be  written,  and  luckily  the 
"  Pows "  possessed  in  Aubrey  Dowdon  a 
musical  director  who  could  write  music  as 
fast  as  he  could  write  a  letter.  He  scored 
the  parts,  and  the  musician  strummed  them 
out.  The  result  was  a  most  amusing  vaude- 
ville performance.  There  were  some  excel- 
lent voices,  romantic  and  humorous ;  Aubrey 
Dowdon  was  himself  no  mean  vocalist,  and 
there  was  Milton  Hayes. 

Indeed  it  is  hard  not  to  make  the  accoimt 
of  those  early  performances  a  mere  chronicle 
of  Milton  Hayes.  He  was  the  supreme 
humorist.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  stand 
on  the  stage  and  smile,  and  the  audience  was 
happy.  It  was  a  wonderful  smile,  that 
unconscious  innocent  affair  that  only  child- 
hood is  supposed  to  know.     And  to  watch 

198 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

Hayes  perform  was  like  watching  a  child  play 
with  bricks.  It  was  as  if  he  were  making 
his  jokes  simply  for  his  own  pleasure,  build- 
ing up  his  toy  palace  of  fun,  and  then 
turning  to  his  audience  to  ask  them  how 
they  liked  it.  A  small  stage  and  a  small 
room  give  scope  for  a  far  deeper  intimacy 
than  is  possible  in  the  large  proscenium  of 
a  London  hall,  where  the  artist  can  see 
before  him  only  a  dull  blur  of  faces  through 
the  dusk.  At  Mainz  Milton  Hayes  could 
see  and,  as  it  were,  speak  to  each  individual 
present,  and  before  he  had  been  on  the  stage 
five  minutes  one  felt  as  if  he  were  an  old 
friend  that  one  had  known  all  one's  life. 
He  caught  the  true  spirit  of  intimacy,  the 
kindredship  with  his  audience,  that  is  the 
whole  secret  of  the  music-hall  profession. 

During  the  first  two  months  the  programme 
did  not  change  much.  There  would  be 
always  some  slight  variety  in  a  new  stunt 
by  Hayes,  a  new  tune  by  Dowdon,  or  a 
topical  sketch.     But  the  old  numbers  con- 

199 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

tinually  cropped  up.  "The  Money  Moon" 
and  "  Wlien  you're  a  long  way  from 
Home " — these  never  left  us.  Still,  they 
received  a  hearty  welcome.  The  audience 
in  an  Offiziergefangenenlager  is  not  too 
captious.  It  goes  not  to  criticise  but  to  be 
amused.  And  so  for  the  first  two  months 
the  "  Pows  "  continued  to  entertain  us  every 
Saturday.  After  a  while  the  stress  of  private 
composition  caused  Milton  Hayes  to  drop 
out  more  or  less,  but  the  company  went  on 
with  an  undiminished  vigour.  And  then 
suddenly  a  rumour  went  round  the  camp 
that  a  rival  company  was  being  formed,  and 
that  in  a  fortnight's  time  the  "  Shivers " 
would  start  their  continental  tour. 

The  general  good  being  the  one  standard 
by  which  to  judge  any  collective  innovation, 
the  enterprise  of  the  '*  Shivers "  must  be 
considered  the  greatest  benefit  the  camp 
received.  Competition  roused  the  ambition 
of  the  "  Pows."  Each  party  swore  to  outdo 
the  other.  There  ensued  a  race  of  progressive 
excellence.     Each  performance  was  produced 

200 


How  We  Amused   Ourselves 

with  a  more  lavish  outlay  of  the  public 
funds;  each  time  the  curtain  rose  a  deeper 
gasp  paid  homage  to  scenic  artists;  and 
the  composers  ceased  to  rely  for  their 
material  on  the  work  of  other  men.  They 
began  to  write  their  own  songs  and  their 
own  music;  the  old  ragtime  and  coon 
melodies  disappeared,  and  instead  we  had 
original  airs  and  topical  numbers.  And 
here  the  "  Pows  "  had  a  great  advantage,  for 
their  musical  director,  who  in  these  pages 
shelters  himself  beneath  the  pseudonym  of 
Aubrey  Dowdon,  had  a  gift  for  libretto  that 
we  soon  expect  to  see  on  the  playbills  of 
the  Alhambra,  and  his  company  finally  beat 
all  records  with  a  musical  operetta  entitled 
The  Girl  on  the  Stairs.  All  the  songs 
were  original,  and  it  was  marvellously  staged. 
There  were  eastern  grottos,  and  the  gleam 
of  white  shoulders  through  the  dusk.  There 
was  a  long  serenade  to  the  Jehlum  River 
girl,  in  which  brown  tanned  slaves  prostrated 
themselves  before  the  half-naked  form  of  a 
sylph  arrayed  in  veils.     There  were  humour 

201 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

and  naughtiness,  horseplay  and  burlesque. 
It  was  a  triumph  of  impromptu  and  ingenuity, 
after  which  the  activities  of  the  **  Shivers  " 
fell  woefully  flat. 

From  the  psychological  standpoint  the 
professional  jealousy  of  those  weeks  of 
hectic  rivalry  provided  food  for  much 
deliberation.  The  rivalry  once  definitely 
acknowledged,  the  camp  did  its  best  to 
foment  contention.  The  manager  of  the 
"  Shivers  "  would  be  told  that,  unless  he  was 
careful,  he  would  be  absolutely  washed  out 
by  the  "  Pows,"  and  the  same  story  was 
carried  to  Dowdon.  There  were  few  things 
more  amusing  than  to  sit  behind  either  party 
during  a  rival  performance.  They  would 
simulate  great  enthusiasm,  but  all  the  time 
they  would  be  exchanging  shy  and  nervous 
glances.     There  would  be  whispers  of — 

"  Do  you  think  it's  good  ?  " 

"  Rather  cheap  that,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  What  a  chestnut !  " 

And  if  the  piece  did  make  a  hit,  what 
colossal  ''  wind-up,"  what    profound  trepid- 

202 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

ation !  And  with  what  eager  haste  was  the 
next  show  rehearsed.  From  the  point  of 
view  of  the  pubHc,  this  was  entirely  excel- 
lent. We  got  excellent  shows,  for  there  is 
no  goad  like  jealousy. 

But  competition  is  a  dangerous  tool,  and 
I  often  used  to  wonder  where  all  this  frenzy 
would  end,  and  to  what  point  it  was  leading. 
It  had  got  beyond  the  well-defined  limits 
of  a  good-humoured  race.  If  it  had  been  a 
case  of  nations,  it  is  quite  plain  what  the 
result  would  have  been.  Competition  would 
have  become  contention,  jealousy  would 
have  bred  hatred,  and  there  would  have 
been  a  war,  of  which  the  real  issue  would 
have  been,  shall  we  say,  the  prop-box.  But 
of  course  the  companies  themselves  would 
not  have  fought;  they  had  started  the  war, 
that  would  have  been  enough  for  them. 
And  the  ordinary  Gefangener,  who  had  quite 
unconsciously  fanned  this  flame,  by  scratch- 
ing at  the  sore  place  and  aggravating  the 
little  itch,  would  find  himself  enrolled  imder 
one    standard    or   the   other,    and    involved 

203 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

in  a  war  of  which  he  was  the  luiwitting 
cause. 

And  he  would  be  told — well,  what  would  he 
be  told  ?  That  he  was  fighting  for  a  prop- 
box?  That  would  never  do.  There  might 
come  a  time  when  he  would  not  consider  a 
prop-box  worth  the  surrender  of  his  liberty. 
No,  the  manager  would  have  to  find  some 
striking  and  impersonal  cause,  '*  not  for 
passion,  or  for  power."  A  theme  must  be 
foimd  fitting  for  high  oratory,  a  framework 
constructed  that  would  bear  the  weight  of 
many  sounding  phrases.  Let  the  poor 
Gefangener  believe  that  he  is  fighting  for  the 
freedom  of  the  English  stage;  let  the  old 
catchwords  rip,  "  Art  against  Vulgarity," 
"  The  Drama  against  the  Vaudeville," 
"  Shakespeare  against  A  Little  Bit  of  Fluff." 
And  then  .... 

But  fortunately  we  were  not  nations  armed 
with  a  pulpit  and  a  Press,  we  were  simply 
prisoners  of  war,  and  this  competition 
produced  some  very  delightful  entertain- 
ment.    But    all   the    same,   I   still   wonder 

204 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

where  things  would  have  ended,  if  we  had 
stayed  there  much  longer.  We  were  riding 
for  a  smash.  We  had  exhausted  our  limited 
resources;  for  one  man  cannot  compose, 
stage  and  produce  a  new  musical  comedy 
every  fortnight,  and  the  rivalry  of  the  two 
parties  had  developed  at  such  an  alarming 
pace  that  we  were  faced  with  the  prospect 
of  a  return  to  "  The  Money  Moon,"  when 
Milton  Hayes  returned  to  the  stage,  and,  in 
his  own  phrase,  "  let  loose  the  light  that  set 
the  vault  of  heaven  on  fire." 

§  2 

For  some  weeks  Milton  Hayes  had  been 
living  the  retired  life  of  an  author,  architect 
or  other  student.  For  he  had  found  the 
effort  of  repeated  performances  in  an  un- 
natural atmosphere  a  very  real  strain  on 
his  nerves. 

"  No  Sanatogen,"  he  said,  "  that's  what 
does  it.  I  can't  act  without  Sanatogen.  I 
used  to  try  champagne  once,  but  it  left  me 
like  a  rag  afterwards.    Sanatogen's  the  stuff." 

205 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

As  a  traveller  in  this  commodity  he  would 
have  made  quite  a  hit.  He  never  wearied 
of  singing  its  praises,  and  we  used  to  ask 
him  why  he  did  not  forward  to  the  firm  one 
of  those  credentials  that  begin,  "  Since  using 
your  admirable  tonic  .  .  .  ." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  it,  Milton  ?  "  we  used 
to  say.  "  It  would  be  a  jolly  good  advertise- 
ment. '  Milton  Hayes,  the  author  of  the 
Green  Eye,  says  .  .  .'  You'd  have  your 
name  placarded  all  over  the  kingdom." 

But  he  would  none  of  it. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  that's  far  too  obvious. 
Any  beginner  tries  that  stunt,  or  men  that 
are  'has  beens.'  I  might  invent  a  mixture. 
But  no,  not  the  other  thing.  It's  not  the 
sort  of  publicity  one  wants." 

But  whatever  commercial  advantage 
Sanatogen  may  have  lacked  as  an  advertising 
agent,  its  absence  in  Hayes's  life  certainly 
affected  his  nerves.  It  is  a  compound  that 
he  found  palatable  only  in  milk,  and  even 
condensed  milk  was  a  rare  commodity.  The 
result  was  that  Milton  Hayes  joined  the  band 

206 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

of  Wordsmiths  in  the  Alcove,  and  spent  his 
time  working  on  his  lyrics  and  on  a  musical 
comedy. 

This  programme  satisfied  him  well  enough 
for  a  couple  of  months.  In  France  he  had 
spent  much  of  his  time  organising  concert 
parties,  and  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  was  not 
sorry  to  be  quit  for  a  time  of  grease  paints 
and  the  greenroom.  But  it  could  not  last; 
and  within  a  short  time  he  was  longing  for 
fresh  worlds  to  conquer.  And,  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  friend,  he  altered  and  abbrevi- 
ated his  musical  comedy  into  a  farcical 
libretto  calculated  to  run  for  about  a  hundred 
minutes.  This  composition  he  laid  in  all 
good  faith  before  the  Entertainments 
Committee,  suggesting  that  he  should  choose 
his  cast  from  the  pick  of  the  "  Pows  "  and 
the  "  Shivers,"  and  should  himself  produce 
the  show.  It  was  a  simple  proposal;  but 
he  had  not  calculated  upon  the  extent  to 
which  professional  rivalry  had  imprisoned 
the  dramatic  activities  of  the  camp. 

While  all  the  world  slept  momentous  things 
207 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

had  happened.  A  scheme  of  regulations 
had  been  drawn  up  for  the  guidance  of  the 
managing  directors,  which  in  a  way  resembled 
the  qualifications  of  League  Football.  To 
prevent  poaching  it  had  been  decided  that, 
once  a  performer  had  figured  on  the  playbills 
of  one  company,  he  could  not  transfer  his 
allegiance  elsewhere.  No  assistance  was  to 
be  given  by  one  party  to  another;  only 
the  piano,  the  orchestra  and  the  prop-box 
were  common  property.  There  was  a  sort 
of  trade  boycott  afoot  in  which  only  neutral 
waters  were  free  from  tariff. 

And  then  into  this  world  of  regulated  com- 
merce Milton  Hayes  entered  like  the  bold  bad 
buccaneer  of  Romance,  demanding  free  ports 
and  free  transport,  the  very  pirate  of  legality. 

Well,  what  the  committee's  opinion  on 
this  subject  was,  we  can  only  conjecture. 
What  it  did  is  a  matter  of  common  know- 
ledge. It  absolutely  refused  to  lend  its 
support:  why,  we  can  but  guess.  Perhaps 
they  were  a  little  piqued  at  the  infrequency 
of   Hayes's   appearance   on    the    vaudeville 

208 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

stage ;  perhaps  they  had  advanced  so  far  into 
the  land  of  tabulated  orders  that  they  could 
see  no  safe  withdrawal.  Perhaps  ....  But 
it  is  unfair  to  impute  motives  to  any  one. 
One  can  merely  state  facts,  and  register  one's 
personal  opinion  that  collectively  humanity 
is  rather  stupid,  and  that  if  committees  are 
allowed  a  free  hand,  they  usually  do  manage 
to  mess  things  up  somehow;  and  that  the 
conclusions  at  which  they  arrive  do  not  at 
all  represent  the  opinions  of  those  individuals 
framing  them. 

I  remember  that  some  four  and  a  half 
years  ago  I  received  a  sufficiently  severe 
beating  from  the  School's  Games  Committee, 
on  the  ground  that  I  had  played  roughly  in 
a  house  match;  and  that  within  a  week  six 
of  the  seven  members  of  that  committee  had 
apologised  to  me  in  person  for  their  assault. 
This,  as  a  testimonial  to  my  moral  worth,  was 
no  doubt  comforting;  but  as  an  alleviation 
for  the  pain  of  those  fourteen  strokes,  it 
was  an  inadequate  recompense.  And  the 
treatment  of  Milton  was  not  very  different, 
p  209 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

The  committee,  which  consisted  of  ten 
officers,  refused  him  their  support ;  but  each 
individual  member  of  the  community  con- 
sidered it  a  grave  injustice,  and  one  and  all 
they  came  up  to  Hayes  with  apologies  to 
the  tune  of — 

"  Awfully  sorry,  old  man,  about  this  show 
of  yours.  I  wish  we  could  have  helped  you. 
I'd  love  to  myself,  only  the  committee  won't 
let  me.  Beastly  nuisance  I  call  it,  a  man 
isn't  his  own  master  any  longer.  Awfully 
sorry,  old  man." 

By  the  time  the  tenth  member  had  ex- 
pressed a  similar  regret,  Milton  Hayes  began 
to  wonder  whether  the  committee  was  a 
blind  force,  with  a  will  independent  of  its 
component  parts.  He  was  naturally  gratified 
to  receive  so  many  sympathetic  condolences, 
but  they  did  not  materially  assist  him  in 
his  task  of  finding  a  company  to  produce  his 
libretto.  However,  he  beat  the  by-ways  and 
hedges,  and  finally  amassed  a  nondescript 
commimity,  which  for  want  of  a  better  name 
he  called  the  "Buckshees." 

210 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

The  company  numbered  thirty-two,  and 
was  supported  by  voluntary  contribution. 
The  "Pows  "  and  the  "  Shivers  "  had  drawn 
within  their  folds  the  pick  of  the  vocalists 
and  humorists;  two  dramatic  societies  had 
gleaned  after  them.  The  remaining  stubble 
was  a  sorry  sight,  and  as  an  insignificant 
member  of  that  distinguished  caste,  I  must 
confess  that  I  viewed  the  first  mustering  of 
the  "  Buckshees  "  with  an  eye  of  profound 
misgiving.  All  of  them  were  strangers  to 
one  another;  and  though  it  is  easy  to  talk 
of  flowers  ''  that  blow  unseen,"  in  a  com- 
munity such  as  a  prison  camp  one  is  usually 
aware  pretty  early  of  those  whom  the  Fates 
have  endowed  with  talents.  There  had  been 
little  selection.  Affairs  had  taken  a  course 
something  like  this .  Hayes  had  been  walking 
across  the  square  when  he  had  been  accosted 
by  a  total  stranger. 

''  I  say,  Hayes,"  he  would  say,  "  you  are 
getting  up  a  show  or  something,  aren't 
you?  " 

"  Yes ;    like  a  part  in  it  ?  " 
211 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  really  came  up  for." 

"  Done  any  acting?  " 

"  Oh,  not  much,  you  know,  a  few  charades." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  fancy  ?  " 

"  Low  comedy." 

"  Right,  then  I'll  put  you  down  for  the 
drunken  slaveboy.  First  rehearsal  to-mor- 
row at  ten  in  the  lecture  hall;  thanks  so 
much.     Cheerioh." 

And  so  the  ''Buckshees"  were  formed. 

But  the  difficulties  did  not  lie  merely  in 
the  calibre  of  the  artists.  There  was  the 
staging,  the  scenery,  the  music.  Hayes  had 
written  the  songs,  but  who  was  to  score 
the  melodies  ?  The  versatile  Dowdon  had 
promised  to  overrule  the  committee  and 
orchestrate  the  parts,  but  what  of  the  piano  ? 
For  the  only  two  musicians  had  been  collared 
by  the  "  Pows  "  and  the  "  Shivers."  There 
were,  of  course,  numerous  strummers,  but 
there  was  no  composer.  And  it  was  amusing 
to  watch  the  way  Hayes  set  to  w^ork. 

First  of  all  he  would  write  the  lyric,  and 
beat  out  a  rh5l:hm.     He  w^ould  then  go  and 

212 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

recite  his  composition  to  one  Radcliffe,  who 
could  play  the  piano,  but  could  not  score  a 
part ;  Radcliffe  would  get  the  drift  of  Hayes's 
idea,  and  would  in  the  course  of  hours 
compose  a  harmony  of  sorts,  which  he  would 
play  to  his  friend  Gladstone,  who  could  score 
a  part  but  could  not  play  a  piano.  Glad- 
stone would  jot  down  the  notes ;  and  behold 
a  finished  song,  the  result  of  a  sort  of  Pro- 
gressive Whist. 

The  troubles  of  staging  were  less  difficult. 
The  experts  had,  it  is  true,  been  already 
commandeered  by  the  other  societies.  But 
a  serviceable  quartet  of  carpenters  was 
discovered,  and  some  decorative  artists 
procured.  All  these  arrangements  Hayes 
left  in  charge  of  others.  He  knew  the  art 
of  delegating  responsibility,  and  he  certainly 
had  his  hands  full  with  his  cast.  For  he 
relied  for  his  success  on  vitality,  innovations, 
and  the  quality  wliich  he  always  dubbed  as 
"  punch."  He  did  not  ask  for  elaborate 
scenery.  He  knew  he  could  not  expect  to 
equal    effect    of    The    Girl    on    the    Stairs, 

216 


The  Prisoners  ot  Mainz 

He  simply  demanded  an  adequate  setting. 
He  would  do  the  rest. 


§3 

With  a  company  endowed  with  mediocre 
ability  Hayes  did  wonders.  He  decided  to 
have  a  beauty  chorus,  and  with  curses  and 
entreaties  he  beat  sixteen  imgainly  males 
into  a  semblance  of  the  charm  and  delicacy 
of  an  Empire  revue.  It  suffered  a  great 
deal,  that  chorus;  it  was  cursed,  and  ex- 
communicated. It  was  made  a  target  for  all 
the  xmmentionable  swears.  If  it  had  been 
composed  of  girls,  it  would  have  spent  half 
its  time  in  tears.  But  eventually  it  emerged, 
in  all  its  nudity,  a  machine.  There  was  a 
big  joyboard,  running  well  into  the  audi- 
torium; and  on  this  it  affected  all  the  airs 
and  graces  of  the  courtesan.  It  cajoled  and 
pleaded;  it  undulated  with  emotion.  It 
swayed  to  each  breath  of  melody,  and  it 
was  not  too  unpleasant  a  sight,  for  Hayes 
had  wisely   transported    it    to    an    Eastern 

214 


OUR   LEADING    LADY. 


[To  face  page  214. 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

island,  to  a  harem,  and  the  kindly  veils  of 
Ethiopian  modesty.  Through  a  mist  of 
white  calico  it  was  impossible  to  discern  the 
razored  roughness  of  a  cheek,  and  the  un- 
razored blackness  of  an  upper  lip.  The 
chorus  was  a  triumph. 

And  the  same  tribute  must  be  accorded 
to  the  leading  ladies.  Nature  had  provided 
them  with  pleasing  features.  Under  Hayes's 
tuition  they  learnt  the  art  of  the  glad  eye 
and  the  droop  of  the  lower  lip.  To  see  those 
beauties  was  to  be  back  again  in  the  gay 
world  of  colour  and  revue.  A  breath  of 
femininity  quivered  about  the  rough-cast 
masculinity  of  Mainz.  So  much  so,  indeed, 
that  on  the  night  of  the  first  performance  a 
distinguished  field  officer,  who  had  drunk 
deeply  not  only  of  romance,  was  observed 
chasing  round  the  corridor  behind  the  flying 
feet  of  an  inclement  Venus,  and  murmm-ing 
between  his  gasps,  "Don't  call  me  Major, 
call  me  Jim " ;  and  even  the  most  hard- 
ened misogynists  were  not  unconscious  of  a 
thrill  when   "  Jlrcola,"  the  daughter  of  the 

315 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Hesperides,  tripped  down  the  joy  board,  and 
sang  with  outspread,  enticing  arms,  that 
beckoned  to  the  audience — 

*'  Come  to  Sonalia  with  me." 

The  plot  of  the  play  was  extravagantly 
simple.  The  curtain  went  up,  revealing  a 
harassed  author  searching  among  his  papers 
for  a  hidden  plot.  The  show  was  billed  to 
start  at  two  o'clock,  but  the  play  was  lost, 
what  should  he  do  ?  And  then  the  machinery 
of  Romance  began.  An  Arabic  inscription 
gave  the  key.  "  Why  should  they  not  wish  for 
the  plot  ?  ".  Faith  would  remove  moimtains, 
and  Faith  caused  to  emerge  from  the  back 
of  the  stage  a  green-faced  being,  who  called 
himself  "  The  King  of  Wishland." 

From  then  onwards  it  was  plain  sailing  : 
the  barrier  between  the  phenomenal  and  the 
real  was  torn  aside,  and  we  were  in  the 
world  of  fancy.  And  it  was  no  surprise 
when  this  obliging  monarch  produced  a 
strange  device  which  he  called  a  "  thought- 
oscope,"   through  which  could  be  observed 

216 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

the  hurried  arrival  from  New  York  of  the 
Financier  who  was  to  find  a  plot.  Through 
this  mendacious  lens  we  saw  him  cross 
from  Halifax  to  London.  He  was  in  an 
aeroplane,  he  was  over  Holland,  he  was 
coming  down  the  Rhine,  he  had  landed  in 
Mainz,  and  look,  amid  gigantic  enthusiasm 
the  gates  of  the  theatre  were  flimg  open  and 
Milton  Hayes,  disguised  as  Silas  P.  Hawk- 
shaw,  was  observed  charging  across  the 
square,  waving  a  stick  and  a  suitcase. 

What  followed  was  sheer  joy.  The  com- 
pany rose  to  the  occasion.  With  perfect 
equanimity  we  received  the  news  that,  in 
order  to  find  the  plot,  we  should  have  to 
be  transported  to  Wishland.  In  Silas  P. 
Hawkshaw  we  placed  a  blind  unquestioning 
trust,  and  before  we  knew  where  we  were, 
the  curtain  was  down,  and  the  chorus  was 
regaling  the  audience,  while  the  scene - 
shifters  did  their  noble  work. 

When  next  the  curtain  rose  it  revealed  a 
tropical  island  splashed  in  simshine.  Through 
a  vista  of  palms  gleamed  the  azm^e  stretches 

217 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

of  some  ultimate  shoreless  sea.  But  no  one 
would  have  willingly  set  sail.  The  island 
was  too  full  of  charm.  There  were  singing 
girls  and  dancing  girls,  a  sultan's  harem,  and 
an  American  bar,  and  the  story  lost  itself 
in  a  riot  of  intrigue.  The  plot  abandoned 
all  coherence.  It  was  a  fairy  dream,  in  which 
a  magic  ring  changed  hands  innumerable 
times,  involving  disastrous  loves  and  deserted 
widows. 

And  through  all  this  medley  of  incidents 
Hayes  wandered,  first  in  one  garb,  then 
in  another.  As  a  Scotsman  he  swallowed 
whisky,  as  a  Welshman  took  two  wives, 
as  a  padre  wandered  into  a  harem,  and  as 
"  Leda  was  the  mother  of  Helen  of  Troy, 
and  all  this  was  to  him  but  as  the  sound  of 
lyres  and  flutes."  It  was  for  him  a  great 
triumph,  and  perhaps  the  most  supreme 
moment  was,  when  he  proffered  marriage  to 
a  much-married  widow,  and  suggested  that 
they  should  spend  their  holiday  in  a  bimga- 
low,  in  a  duet  of  which  the  first  verse  is  too 
good  to  be  forgotten — 

218 


LIEUT.    MILTON    HAYES,    M.C. 
AS    SILAS   P.    HAWK  SHAW. 


[To  iace  page  218. 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

"  He.     How'd  you  like  a  Bungalow  for  two,  dear  ? 
She.    How'd  you  like  to  furnish  it  complete  ? 
He.  It  would  be  a  cosy  nest,  dear. 

Like  the  grey  home  in  the  west,  dear. 
She.    And  on  Sunday  I  should  let  you  cook  the 

meat. 
He.     We'd  have  a  little  bedroom  made  for  two, 

dear. 
She.    A  little  bed,  a  little  chair  or  so ; 
He.  And  in  a  month  or  two,  it  maybe, 

We  should  have  a  little  baby 
Both.  Grand  piano  in  our  Bungalow." 

There  were  four  more  verses,  in  the  main 
topical,  and  the  play  ran  its  way  through  the 
complete  gamut  of  upheavals,  matrimonial 
and  domestic.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  who 
was  allied  to  whom.  It  was  a  complete  and 
utter  socialism,  and  even  the  great  Plato 
himself  would  have  been  satisfied  with  that 
community  of  wives. 

But  it  had  to  end ;  and,  to  carry  the  spirit 
of  burlesque  to  its  conclusion,  we  finished 
with  a  pantomime  procession.  The  chorus 
came  on,  as  choruses  always  do,  in  couples 
beating  time  with  their  heels.  And  in  their 
hands   they   brandished   banners   on   which 

219 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

were  inscribed  the  names  nearest  to  the 
northern  heart,  "  Preston,"  "  Wigan," 
"Johnnie  Walker,"  "Steve  Bloomer."  Then 
the  protagonists  appeared,  each  with  an 
appropriate  tag,  the  lovers  with  a  curtsey 
and  a  bow — 

"And  so  through  every  kind  of  weather 
We  two  will  always  cling  together." 

The  gay  lady  still  naughtily  impenitent — 

"  Although  I  haven't  chanced  to  find  a  feller, 
I  crave  your  pity;  pity  poor  Finella." 

The  evil  genie  of  the  piece,  his  brows  wrinkled 

with  gloom — 

"  You  see  my  work  I  never  shirk, 
For  I've  done  all  the  dirty  work." 

And,  last  of  all,  Milton  Hayes  with  a  wand, 
a  simper  and  a  skirt — 

"  Without  my  aid  where  would  poor  Jack  have  been  ? 
So  please  reward  the  little  fairy  queen." 

And  after  that  was  simg  once  again  the 
opening  chorus,  and  the  curtain  was  rung 
down  on  the  most  enjoyable  show  of  the 
P.O.W.  Theatre,  Mainz,  which  by  a  strange 

220 


How  We  Amused  Ourselves 

and  lucky  coincidence  also  happened  to  be 
the  last.  For  within  a  day  or  two  the 
armistice  was  signed,  and  the  companies 
and  committees  were  scattered.  It  remains 
now  for  Milton  Hayes  to  give  once  more  to 
London  audiences  the  pleasure  that  he  gave 
to  us.  But  because  sentiment  lies  so  near 
to  the  human  heart,  I  think  his  association 
with  the  ''Buckshees"  will  recall  to  Milton 
Hayes  more  pleasant  memories  than  those 
of  his  other  and  perhaps  more  universal 
successes.  At  a  time  when  life  was  grey 
and  tedious,  he  provided  us  with  interest, 
with  employment  and  amusement.  We  can 
only  hope  that  he  enjoyed  himself  as  much 
as  we  did. 


221 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ARMISTICE    DAYS 
§1 

Since  my  return,  so  many  people  have 
asked  me  whether  prisoners  of  war  had  any 
idea  of  the  turn  affairs  were  taking  during 
the  autumn,  that  it  would  be  as  well  to 
state  here  exactly  what  our  sources  of  in- 
formation were.  There  were  only  two 
papers  printed  in  English,  the  Anti-Northcliffe 
Times  and  the  Continental  Times,  The 
former  I  never  saw,  and  it  cannot  have  had 
a  very  large  circulation.  But  the  Conti- 
nental Times,  which  appeared  three  times  a 
week,  was  to  be  found  in  every  room  in 
the  camp.  It  was  the  most  mendacious 
chronicle.  It  was  printed  at  Berlin,  and 
was  published  solely  for  British  prisoners  of 
war;    a  more  foolish  production  can  hardly 

222 


Armistice  Days    ^ 

be  imagined.  Its  views,  political  and  mili- 
tary, changed  with  each  day's  tidings,  and 
its  chief  object  was  to  impress  on  British 
prisoners  the  relative  innocence  of  Germany 
and  perfidy  of  the  Entente.  But  it  was  so 
badly  done  that  it  can  never  have  achieved 
its  ends.  It  was  far  too  violent,  and  so 
obviously  partial.  Its  only  interesting 
features  were  the  reproductions  from  the 
English  weeklies  of  articles  by  men  like 
Ivor  Brown  and  Bertrand  Russel;  once 
they  even  paid  me  the  doubtful  honour  of 
a  quotation,  a  tribute  considerably  enhanced 
by  the  appearance  of  the  poem  under  the 
name  of  Siegfried  Sassoon. 

But  no  one  took  the  Continental  Times 
seriously,  and  the  paper  that  we  relied  on 
for  our  news  was  the  Frankfurter  Zeitung, 
the  representative  organ  of  the  Rhine  towns. 
There  were  two  issues  daily.  The  morning 
one  contained  the  Alliance  communiques, 
and  the  evening  one  the  Entente.  Like  all 
other  German  papers,  it  was  imder  the 
strictest  censorship  of  the  military  bui'eau- 

223 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

crats,  but  it  maintained  nevertheless  an 
extraordinary  impartiality.  It  rarely  in- 
dulged in  heroics,  and  except  for  a  little 
"  hot  air  "  on  March  22nd  it  kept  its  head 
remarkably  well.  It  is,  of  course,  the  most 
moderate  paper  in  the  country,  and  the 
Berliner  Tageblatt  is  considerably  more 
hectic.  But  the  Frankfurter  Zeitung  was, 
certainly  during  the  period  of  my  captivity, 
more  restrained  than  any  British  daily 
publication.  It  can  be  most  fittingly  com- 
pared, in  tone  though  not  in  politics,  with 
our  sixpenny  weekly  papers  whose  appeal 
is  to  the  educated  classes. 

From  this  paper  we  could  get  a  pretty 
fair  idea  of  how  things  were  going ;  but  even 
without  the  paper  we  should  have  been  pre- 
pared for  the  debacle  of  November.  For 
we  could  see  what  the  papers  do  not  show— 
and  that  is  the  psychology  of  the  people. 
For  so  long  their  hopes  had  been  buoyed  up 
by  the  expectations  of  immediate  victories 
in  the  field;  they  had  been  told  that  the 
March   offensive   would   most   surely   bring 

224 


Armistice  Days 

them  this  peace ;  and  on  this  belief  had 
rested  their  entire  faith.  For  this  they  had 
maintained  a  war  that  was  crippling  them. 
They  had  endured  sufferings  greater  than 
those  of  either  France  or  England.  Their 
casualties  had  been  colossal,  the  civilian 
population  had  been  starved.  But  yet  they 
had  hung  on,  because  they  had  been  told 
that  victory  would  bring  them  peace;  and 
then  Foch  attacked ;  their  expectations  were 
overthrown;  the  Entente  were  still  fresh 
and  ready  to  fight.  There  was  talk  of  un- 
limited resources,  and  Germany  was  faced 
with  the  prospect  of  a  long  and  harassing 
war  that  could  end  only  in  exhaustion  and 
reverse;  and  that  the  German  people  were 
not  prepared  to  endure. 

For  there  will  always  come  a  point  at 
which  the  individual  will  refuse  to  have  his 
interests  sacrificed  for  a  collective  abstrac- 
tion with  which  he  has  not  identified  him- 
self. Mankind  in  the  mass  has  neither  mind 
nor  memory,  and  can  be  swayed  and  blinded 
by  a  clever  politician;  it  can  be  led  to  the 
Q  225 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

brink  of  folly  without  realising  what  road 
it  follows.     Collectively  it  is  capable  of  in- 
justice which  in  an  individual  it  would  never 
countenance;    but  sooner  or  later  the  col- 
lective emotion  yields   before  the   personal 
demand,    and   the   individual   asks   himself, 
"  Why  am  I  doing  this  ?     Am  I  benefiting 
from  it;    and   if  I  am  not  benefiting  from 
it,  who  is  ? "     For,  of  course,  by  even  the 
most    successful    war    the    position    of   the 
individual  is  not  improved.     The  indemnities 
and    confiscations    that    the    treaty    brings 
never    cover   the    expenses    and    privations 
previously  entailed.     And  collective  honour 
is  perishable  stuff.     But  as  long  as  the  war 
is    successful,    the    politicians    are    able    to 
persuade  the  people  that  they  are  actually 
gaining  something  from  it.     They  can  say, 
"We  have  got  this  island  and  that;    here 
our  frontier  has  been  pushed  forwards,  and 
in   return   for  that  small  concession,   look, 
behold  an  indemnity."     And  because  man- 
kind  has   neither   mind   nor   memory   it   is 
prepared  to  forget  the  millions  of  pounds 

226 


Armistice  Days 

that  had  to  be  spent  first,  and  the  quantity 
of  blood  that  had  to  be  spilt. 

That  is  when  the  war  is  successful;  but 
when  defeat  looms  near,  whatever  the  courtly- 
ministers  may  m^ge,  the  individual  will 
contrast  in  his  own  mind  the  ravages,  that 
another  two  years  of  warfare  will  entail, 
with  the  possible  emoluments  that  may  lie 
at  the  end  of  them.  He  will  say  to  himself, 
"  It  is  reasonable  to  expect  that,  by  fighting 
for  another  two  years,  we  may  eventually 
get  better  terms  than  we  should  get  now,  if 
we  signed  a  peace.  But  to  me  personally, 
is  the  difference  sufficient  to  warrant  the 
sufferings  of  a  protracted  war?"  And  the 
answer,  as  often  as  not,  is  "  No."  That 
is,  as  far  as  one  can  judge,  the  sort  of  argu- 
ment that  presented  itself  to  the  individual 
German  in  the  weeks  following  Foch's  re- 
sumption of  the  attack.  And  in  determining 
the  forces  that  went  to  the  framing  of  that 
"  no,"  the  most  important  thing  to  realise 
is  that  Germany  was  actually  starving. 

That  this  is  so,  a  certain  portion  of  the 
227 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Press  has,  during  the  last  month,  attempted 
to  deny ;  and  it  is  rumom^ed  that  the  armies 
of  occupation  have  foimd  the  German  towns 
well  stocked  with  food.  If  this  last  report 
is  true,  I  do  not  profess  to  be  able  to  explain 
it ;  but  of  one  thing  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
while  we  were  prisoners  in  Mainz  the  German 
people  there  were  not  merely  hungry,  they 
were  starving.  It  is  true  that  meat  was 
obtainable  in  restaurants,  but  only  at  a 
price  so  high  as  to  be  well  beyond  the  means 
of  even  the  moderately  wealthy.  A  dinner, 
consisting  of  a  plate  of  soup  and  a  plate  of 
meat  and  vegetables,  would  in  places  cost  as 
much  as  twelve  to  fifteen  marks,  and  the 
majority  of  men  and  women  had  to  exist 
entirely  on  their  rations.  Of  many  of  the 
necessaries  of  life  it  was  impossible  to  get 
enough,  especially  in  the  case  of  butter  and 
milk  and  cheese.  Of  meat  there  was  very 
little,  and  flour  could  only  be  bought  at  an 
exorbitant  price.  The  bread  ration  was 
small,  and  eggs  were  rarely  obtainable. 
Potatoes  alone  were  plentiful,  and  two  years 

228 


Armistice  Days 

of  such  a  diet  had  considerably  lowered  the 
nation's  vitality. 

In  times  of  sickness  this  weakness  pro- 
duced heavy  fatalities,  especially  among  the 
children.  A  German  father  even  went  to 
the  lengths  of  offering  an  English  officer 
a  hundred  marks  for  a  shilling  packet  of 
chocolate  to  give  to  his  son  who  was  sick. 
And  all  the  children  born  during  the  last 
two  years  are  miserably  weak  and  puny; 
some  of  them  even  having  no  nails  on  their 
toes  and  fingers. 

"  You  are  not  a  father,  so  you  will  not 
imderstand,"  a  German  soldier  said  to  me. 
"  But  it  is  a  most  terrible  thing  to  watch, 
as  I  have  watched  during  the  last  four  years, 
a  little  boy  growing  weaker  and  paler  month 
after  month ;  and  I  can  tell  you  that  when 
I  look  at  my  little  boy,  all  that  I  want  is 
that  this  war  should  end,  I  do  not  care  how." 

And  it  is  only  natural  that  the  individual 
parent  should  feel  like  this,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  in  England  we  quite  realise  all 
that    Germany   has    suffered.     I   remember 

229 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

one  morning  after  the  signing  of  the  armistice 
that  some  small  boys  of  about  seven  years 
old  climbed  up  the  outside  of  the  citadel, 
and  asked  us  for  some  food.  We  gave  them 
a  few  biscuits ;  they .  were  very  hard  and 
dry,  but  I  have  never  seen  such  excitement 
and  joy  on  a  child's  face  before.  It  was  a 
most  pathetic  sight.  A  child  of  that  age 
cannot  feign  an  emotion,  and  those  children 
were  absolutely  starving. 

And  the  knowledge  that  this  was  so  must 
ha^je  had  a  very  saddening  effect  on  the 
German  soldier  at  the  front.  For  one  of 
the  very  few  consolations  that  were  granted 
to  a  British  soldier  in  the  line  was  the  cer- 
tainty that  his  wife  and  family  were  well 
and  safe.  But  the  German  soldier  must 
have  been  faced  continually  with  the  thought 
that,  whatever  sufferings  he  might  himself 
endure,  he  could  not  protect  those  he  loved 
from  the  hunger  that  was  crushing  them,  and 
for  him  those  long  cold  nights  and  lonely 
watches  must  have  been  imrelieved  by  any 
gleam  of  hope. 

230 


Armistice  Days 

It  is  not  natural  that  any  nation  should 
bear  such  hardships  for  an  instant  longer 
than  they  appeared  absolutely  needful,  and 
when  it  became  quite  clear  that  the  Entente 
had  not  only  survived  the  March  offensive, 
but  had  emerged  from  it  with  undiminished 
powers,  the  Germans  began  to  agitate  for 
an  instant  peace.  At  the  beginning  they 
were  not  aware  of  their  weakness  in  the 
field,  and  when  the  first  armistice  note  was 
sent  the  terms  expected  were  very  light. 

"  We  shall  probably  have  to  evacuate 
France  and  Belgium,"  they  said,  "  and  per- 
haps Italy  and  Palestine.  That's  all  the 
guarantee  that  will  be  required." 

And  at  this  point,  as  far  as  we  could 
gather,  there  was  very  little  animosity 
against  the  Kaiser. 

"  Of  course,"  they  said,  "  this  sort  of 
thing  must  not  happen  again.  We  shall 
have  to  tie  him  down  a  good  deal.  Ministers 
will  have  to  be  responsible  to  the  Reichstag 
and  not  to  him.     That  should  ensure  us." 

There  was  hardly  any  talk  of  a  republic. 
231 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

But  when  the  Austrian  and  Bulgarian 
armies  crumpled  up,  and  Foch  began  to 
threaten  invasion  from  every  side,  it  was 
as  if  a  sort  of  panic  seized  the  Germans. 
They  felt  that  they  must  have  an  armistice 
at  any  cost,  and  were  terribly  afraid  it 
would  not  be  granted  them.  They  thought 
that  the  French  would  demand  revenge  for 
every  indignity  and  injustice  they  had 
suffered  in  1871;  and  when  they  realised 
that  the  Entente  was  not  prepared  to  treat 
with  the  Kaiser,  they  clamoured  for  his 
abdication.  It  was  an  ignoble  business. 
Even  the  Frankfurter  Zeitung  joined  in  the 
tumult.  There  was  a  general  terror  which 
gave  birth  to  the  revolution. 

§2 
The  revolutionists  arrived  at  Mainz  on 
Friday,  November  8th,  and  the  first  intima- 
tion we  received  of  their  presence  was  the 
arrival  on  morning  parade  of  the  German 
adjutant  in  a  civilian  suit.  He  had  appar- 
ently spent  the  previous  evening  at  Koln, 

232 


Armistice  Days 

where  all  officers  had  been  advised  either  to 
leave  the  town  as  speedily  as  possible,  or 
else  change  into  mufti.  This  gallant  officer 
did  both,  and  for  the  first  time  since  we 
were  captured,  we  were  dismissed  without 
an  appel. 

During  the  whole  of  that  day  the  camp 
was  possessed  of  rumours.  At  any  moment 
we  were  told  the  revolutionaries  might 
present  themselves  before  the  gates;  we 
should  be  in  their  hands;  our  whiskered 
sentries  would  have  neither  the  power  nor 
the  inclination  to  protect  us.  Thoughts  of 
Bolshevism  worked  disquietingly  within  our 
minds;  we  pictured  a  sanguinary  contest 
between  the  military  and  socialist  parties, 
and  we  were  a  little  nervous  lest  the  caprice 
of  the  moment  should  ally  us  with  one  or 
other  of  the  warring  parties.  The  town  was 
clearly  imder  the  power  of  the  Red  Flag. 
German  officers  were  not  allowed  in  the 
streets  in  uniform,  and  it  was  a  pleasant 
sight  to  see  the  General  robing  himself  in 
a    suit    of    mustard-coloured    cloth    before 

233 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

venturing  beyond  the  gate.  But  I  must 
own  that  personally  I  was  considerably 
alarmed  about  my  safety.  However  deep- 
rooted  may  be  one's  objections  to  constitu- 
tions and  their  rulers,  however  much  one 
may  sympathise  with  the  iSsa  of  rebellion, 
one  does  prefer  to  view  these  calamitous 
upheavals  either  from  the  safety  of  a  hearth- 
rug, or  from  a  distance  of  two  himdred  yards. 

And  it  seemed  more  than  likely  that,  on 
the  signing  of  the  armistice,  we  should  have 
to  beat  a  very  hasty  retreat  which  would 
involve  the  dumping  of  the  greater  part  of 
our  kit;  and  we  had  received  no  informa- 
tion of  what  we  might  take  with  us.  This 
was  very  disquieting.  During  the  eight 
months  of  my  confinement  I  had  written 
some  two-thirds  of  a  novel,  and  had  no  wish 
to  discover  that  manuscript  was  contraband. 
Tarrant  viewed  my  troubles  with  complete 
composin^e. 

"  My  dear  Waugh,"  he  said,  "  as  I've 
told  you  more  than  once  before,  that  novel 
is  quite  unprintable,  and  if  it  is  published, 

284 


Armistice  Days 

it  will  plunge  both  you  and  your  publisher 
into  disaster.  You'd  do  much  better  to 
leave  it  here." 

But  with  this  I  could  naturally  not  agree, 
and  in  a  state  of  some  perturbation  carried 
my  heart-searchings  to  the  German  adjutant. 
He  received  me  most  affectionately. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Waugh,"  he  said,  "  things  are 
not  as  serious  as  all  that.  It  will  be  all 
right.  If,  of  course,  you  had  been  exchanged, 
it  would  have  been  a  different  thing.  But 
now  you  can  take  what  you  like,  and  I  am 
sure  that  anything  you  write  would  be 
quite  harmless." 

"  Quite  harmless."  ...  I  thought  of  all 
the  scholastic  fury  that  had  been  split  over 
Gordon  Carruthers,  I  thought  of  Mr.  Dames- 
Longworth  who  had  called  it  "  pernicious  " 
stuff,  of  Canon  Lyttelton  who  had  spoken 
so  much  and  to  such  little  purpose,  and  who 
had  given  me  so  royal  an  advertisement. 
And  I  thought  of  that  long  stream  of  corre- 
spondents who  had  signed  themselves  "  A 
mere  schoolmaster,"  and  I  thought  of  what 

235 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

they  will  say  of  my  new  book  if  it  ever  sees 
the  light  of  day ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
of  all  the  adjectives  both  of  appreciation 
and  abuse  that  may  be  attached  to  that 
sorry  work,  "  harmless "  is  certainly  the 
one  it  will  never  receive  again. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day  rumours 
bred  at  an  alarming  pace.  It  was  reported 
that  the  revolutionaries  had  taken  charge  of 
the  camp,  and  that  although  the  armistice 
was  still  unsigned,  they  had  told  us  to  make 
our  own  arrangements  about  repatriation. 
Already  negotiations  had  been  opened  with 
a  shipping  firm  that  was  to  take  us  down  the 
Rhine  to  the  Dutch  frontier.  We  had  visions 
of  England  within  a  week. 

As  to  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  town  only 
conjecture  was  possible;  but  from  the  top 
windows  of  Block  II,  the  slate  roofs  presented 
the  same  somnolent  appearance,  and  it  was 
hard  to  realise  that  beneath  that  placid 
landscape  Democracy  was  lighting  its  flaming 
torch. 

Most  of  our  information  came  from  the 
236 


•     Armistice  Days 

medical  orderly.  In  pre-war  days  he  had 
been  a  waiter  at  the  Carlton,  and  he  had  not 
forgotten  how  to  swear  in  English.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  complete  terrorists. 

"  Europe  is  overrun  with  Bolshevism,"  he 
said.  "It  is  everywhere.  You  have  it  in 
England.  Do  you  know  that  you  have 
soldiers'  councils  in  England  ?  You  have. 
Did  you  know  that  the  British  Fleet  sailed 
into  Kiel  Harbour  flying  the  Red  Flag  ?  It 
did.  Soon  the  whole  world  will  be  having 
revolutions.  There  will  be  no  safety,  none 
at  all." 

He  was  most  hectic,  and  on  the  day  of  the 
armistice  his  anger  exceeded  all  bomids. 

"  Why  do  you  give  us  terms  like  this  ?  " 
he  said.  "  We  have  got  rid  of  our  round- 
heads, our  Kaiser,  our  Ludendorf.  Why  do 
you  not  get  rid  of  yours  ?  Ah,  but  Bol- 
shevism will  come,  and  do  you  know  what 
your  soldiers'  councils  have  done,  they  have 
wired  to  us  not  to  sign  the  armistice .  But  the 
wire  came  too  late.  Still,  it  will  be  all  right  in 
time,  your  soldiers'  councils  will  see  to  that." 

237 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Where  the  Germans  got  the  idea  that  there 
were  soldiers'  councils  in  England,  I  do  not 
know.  It  certainly  did  not  appear  in  the 
Frankfurter  Zeitung,  But  an  enormous  num- 
ber of  Germans  were  under  the  impression 
that  a  corresponding  state  of  affairs  existed 
in  England.  Probably  it  was  a  point  of 
the  revolutionaries'  programme. 

By  November  11th  the  revolution,  as  far 
as  Mainz  was  concerned,  had  more  or  less 
adjusted  itself;  and  the  people's  attention 
was  so  occupied  by  the  new  regime  that  the 
news  of  the  armistice  was  not  received  with 
as  much  excitement  as  might  have  been 
expected.  The  terms  were  a  great  deal 
harder  than  they  had  hoped  for,  but  they 
were  so  glad  the  war  was  over  that  this  did 
not  greatly  trouble  them.  They  had  ceased 
to  care  for  collective  honour.  The  only  man 
I  met  who  was  really  conscious  of  the  defeat 
was  the  professor  who  used  to  take  French 
and  German  classes.  Of  course,  all  his  life 
it  had  been  his  business  to  instil  imperialistic 

238 


Armistice  Days 

propaganda  into  the  boys  and  girls  under 
him,  and  no  doubt  he  himself  must  have 
considerably  absorbed  the  Pan-German  doc- 
trines, and  he  did  feel  acutely  the  ignominy 
of  his  country's  position. 

"  What  hurts  our  pride  more  than  any- 
thing else,"  he  said,  "  is  the  thought  that  we 
release  prisoners  instead  of  exchanging  them. 
It  shows  us  so  clearly  that  we  are  beaten." 

But  the  people  themselves  were  not  at  all 
worried  about  this.  The  only  thing  that 
troubled  them  was  the  doubt  whether  they 
would  be  able  to  get  enough  to  eat  after 
the  surrender  of  so  many  wagons.  The 
grippe  was  raging  very  fiercely  among  them, 
and  the  need  for  food  was  being  very  keenly 
felt.  They  had  also  hoped  that  one  of  the 
conditions  of  the  armistice  would  have  been 
the  removal  of  the  blockade. 

"  You  have  beaten  us,"  they  said.  "  We 
cannot  fight  any  more.  Why  must  you  con- 
tinue the  blockade  ?  We  have  done  every- 
thing you  asked  for;  the  Kaiser  has  gone; 
we  have  a  new  Government." 

239 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

For  they  have  not  yet  reaHsed  the  extent 
to  which  the  previous  deceit  of  their  miUtary 
rulers  has  discredited  them  in  the  eyes  of 
Europe.  They  do  not  realise  that  every 
political  movement  they  make  has  come 
to   be  regarded  with  suspicion. 

With  us  the  revolution  produced  fewer 
ludicrous  situations  than  it  did  in  some  other 
places,  and  a  most  amusing  story  is  told 
about  the  camp  at  Frankfurt.  A  few  days 
after  the  signing  of  the  armistice  the  senior 
British  officer  and  his  adjutant  presented 
themselves  before  the  German  Commandant, 
with  the  request  that  they  might  be  allowed 
out  in  the  town  on  parole.  There  they 
found  their  late  tyrant,  sitting  down  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  cutting  the  epaulettes  off  his 
tunic.  On  their  arrival,  however,  he  put 
on  his  greatcoat  and  made  an  attempt  to 
recover  his  dignity. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  his 
"  comi:ly  foreign  grace." 

The  senior  British  officer  explained  his 
errand.     "  As    we're    no   longer   prisoners," 

240 


Armistice  Days 

he     said,     "  we    may    surely     go    out     for 
walks  ?  " 

The  German  looked  a  little  awkward. 

"  Well,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  the  fact 
is,  I  really  am  not  the  person  to  ask.  You 
see,  the  soldiers'  coimcil  are  in  command. 
You  must  go  and  ask  Herr  Bomenheim, 
he  is  the  representative." 

And  besides  being  representative  of  the 
revolution,  Herr  Bomenheim  was  also  the 
window  cleaner ;  it  is  a  strange  world  in  which 
a  colonel  takes  his  orders  from  his  batman. 

At  Mainz  we  were  less  democratic,  as  our 
affairs  were  run  by  a  sergeant-major.  But 
for  all  that  we  had  no  truck  with  the  old 
regime,  and  the  "  Soldaten  Raht "  proved 
its  independence  by  court -mart  ialling  the 
Prussian  General.  For  that  deed  alone  the 
prisoners  of  Mainz  bear  to  the  revolutionaries 
a  debt  of  everlasting  gratitude.  And  the 
escapade  that  led  to  this  retribution  provides 
a  fitting  example  of  all  that  is  most  aggres- 
sive and  inhuman  in  the  Berlin  military 
caste. 

R  241 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

At  this  time  there  was  a  very  great  deal 
of  sickness  in  Mainz,  and  the  hospitals 
were  crowded  both  with  civilians  and  British 
officers.  It  was  also  a  time  at  which  con- 
gestion of  the  railroads  had  delayed  the 
arrival  of  oui'  Red  Cross  parcels.  The 
British  authorities  in  the  camp  had  in  conse- 
quence collected  as  large  a  supply  of  food 
as  possible,  to  be  sent  to  the  hospital  and 
divided  not  only  among  our  own  invalids, 
but  among  those  of  the  civilian  population 
whose  condition  was  really  critical.  This 
consignment  was  loaded  on  a  handcart, 
and  surrounded,  by  sentries,  was  to  proceed 
into  the  town. 

At  the  gates,  however,  it  was  met  by  the 
General,  who,  by  the  courtesy  of  the  revolu- 
tionaries, was  now  allowed  to  wear  his 
uniform.  He  immediately  stopped  the 
handcart  and  asked  where  it  was  going;  on 
being  informed  of  its  destination  he  ordered 
that  the  food  should  be  returned  at  once 
to  the  officers  who  had  collected  it,  as  he 
could   in   no  wise  coimtenance  such  a  pro- 

242 


Armistice  Days 

ceeding.  It  was  pointed  out  to  him  that 
the  condition  of  several  officers  in  the  hospital 
was  most  serious,  and  that  meat  stuffs  were 
urgently  required.  But  he  would  have  none 
of  it. 

"  My  permission  was  not  asked  first,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  cannot  allow  it.  If  you  had 
come  to  me,  it  would  have  been  different. 
But  I  cannot  have  you  behaving  as  though 
you  were  imder  your  own  rule." 

And  it  is  to  the  credit  of  the  soldiers' 
council  that  they  took  instant  steps  in  the 
matter.  The  General  was  informed  that 
he  only  occupied  his  position  on  tolerance 
and  had  no  active  authority  whatsoever. 
And  within  two  days  he  was  removed  from 
the  camp,  and  is  now,  I  believe,  awaiting 
court-martial  on  a  charge  of  "  inhumanity 
and  callousness." 

And  all  the  while  rumours  about  our 
release  bred  at  an  alarming  rate.  The  Ger- 
man authorities  had  told  us  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  them  to  provide  us  with  a 
train  for  at  least  a  fortnight,  but  that  if  we 

243 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

liked  we  could  make  our  own  arrangements, 
and  charter  a  steamer  that  would  take  us 
up  the  Rhine.  These  were  days  of  furious 
conjecture.  The  complete  technique  of  a 
pleasure  trip  was  exhaustively  discussed. 
How  long  did  it  take  a  steamer  to  coal  ?  how 
long  to  get  up  steam?  And  then  of  how 
many  knots  an  hour  was  it  capable  ?  Sums 
were  worked  out  on  the  old  methods  of, 
Let  X  be  the  rate  of  the  steamer,  and  y  the 
speed  of  the  Rhine.  We  roughly  gauged 
that  it  would  take  twenty-seven  hours.  But 
then,  of  course,  the  Dutch  Government  had 
to  be  considered.  However  delightful  we 
might  be  as  individual  companions,  we  were 
not  at  all  sure  whether  a  neutral  country 
would  welcome  the  sudden  arrival  of  500 
guests.  Of  course  they  had  received  the 
Kaiser,  but  that  was  not  quite  the  same 
thing.  There  was  an  inconvenient  margin 
of  doubt. 

It  was  a  most  disquieting  time.  Each 
hour  was  filled  with  conflicting  rumours,  and 
after  a  while  one  ceased  to  believe  in  any 

244 


Armistice  Days 

of  them.  We  assumed  that  on  the  arrival 
of  the  army  of  occupation  we  should  be 
liberated,  and  it  appeared  as  if  we  should 
have  to  wait  till  then. 

On  November  17th,  however,  we  were  given 
an  official  permit  to  go  into  the  town,  and 
from  then  onwards  the  burden  of  waiting 
was  light. 


245 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FREEDOM 
§1 

After  a  confinement  of  eight  months  it 
was  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  able  to  walk 
through  the  streets  unguarded.  To  be  free 
again;  no  longer  to  be  fenced  round  by 
barbed  wire,  to  be  shadowed  by  innumerable 
eyes;  no  longer  to  be  under  the  rule  of  an 
arrogant  Prussian.  It  was  almost  impos- 
sible to  grasp  it;  that  we  were  free,  free. 
Every  moment  I  expected  to  feel  a  heavy 
hand  fall  on  my  shoulder,  and  to  hear  a 
gruff  voice  bellow  in  my  ear,  "  Es  ist  ver- 
boten,  Herr  Lieutenant." 

And  this  sense  of  unreality  was  increased 
by  our  reception  outside  the  gates.  Whether 
the  children  had  been  given  a  half-holiday 
in  honour  of  their  recent  naval  operations, 

246 


Freedom 

I  do  not  know,  but  it  did  seem  as  though 
the  entire  infantile  population  had  assembled 
outside  the  citadel;  and  no  sooner  did  an 
officer  appear  than  he  was  surrounded  by 
urchins  of  both  sexes,  up  to  the  age  of 
twelve,  all  yelling  for  biscuits  and  chocolate. 
It  was  an  absurd  and  pitiable  sight;  and  it 
was  terrible  to  think  that  a  people  had  so 
far  lost  their  self-respect  as  to  allow  their 
children  to  beg  for  food  from  their  enemies. 
It  was  often  quite  hard  to  get  rid  of  them ; 
they  would  hang  on  to  an  arm  or  to  the  end 
of  a  coat,  and  simply  refuse  to  let  go  till 
actually  forced. 

Considering  that  the  nation,  of  which  it 
formed  a  part,  had  just  sustained  a  defeat 
practically  amounting  to  imconditional  sur- 
render, Mainz  presented  a  spectacle  of  strange 
jubilation.  I  had  expected  to  find  an  atmo- 
sphere of  a  more  or  less  passive  resignation, 
of  disappointment  only  partially  relieved  by 
the  cessation  of  hostilities;  whatever  the 
individual  might  feel,  officialdom  surely,  we 
had  thought,  would  assume  a  woeful  coun- 

247 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

tenance.  But  instead  of  that  we  found  a 
town  robed  as  for  a  carnival.  Flags  were 
hung  from  the  windows  of  every  house,  the 
children  in  the  streets  waved  penny  ensigns, 
and  every  few  minutes  a  lorry  full  of  troops 
would  clatter  through,  the  guns  decked 
with  banners,  the  men  shouting  and  singing. 
It  was  as  though  a  victorious  army  were 
returning  home,  and  after  all  it  was  only 
right  that  the  men  should  receive  a  proper 
welcome.  For  over  four  years  they  had 
waged  on  many  fronts  a  war  that  had  con- 
ferred much  honour  on  their  arms.  They 
had  been  at  all  times  brave  and  resolute. 
They  had  fought  to  the  very  end.  It  was 
not  their  fault  that  Germany  had  been 
steeped  in  ruin. 

The  reception  we  received  from  the  civil 
population  was  very  friendly.  At  first  it 
was  only  with  the  most  extreme  diffidence 
that  we  entered  cafes  and  restaurants,  but 
we  soon  saw  that  there  was  little  or  no 
animosity  against  us.  In  the  streets  civilians 
were   always    ready   to   show   us   the  way, 

248 


Freedom 

and  displayed  no  resentment  at  our  presence 
amongst  them.  In  the  cafes  German  soldiers 
even  came  up  and  spoke  to  us.  There 
was  such  general  delight  at  the  war  being 
over,  that  the  Germans  felt  it  impossible  to 
harbour  any  ill-will  against  any  save  those 
whom  they  held  directly  responsible  for 
their  sufferings,  and  it  was  typical  of  their 
attitude  that,  when  a  German  soldier  intro- 
duced himself,  his  first  remark  was,  "  I 
am  not  a  Prussian." 

The  question  of  the  army  of  occupation 
was  very  keenly  discussed,  and  everywhere 
was  to  be  found  the  same  opinion,  "  We  do 
not  want  the  French."  It  seemed  as  if 
that  hereditary  hate  was  as  keen  as  ever; 
for  the  English  and  Americans  they  enter- 
tained very  neutral  emotions.  But  the 
French  were  too  nearly  neighbours;  and  it 
seems  as  if  only  the  long  passage  of  unevent- 
ful years  could  assuage  this  spirit  of  vindic- 
tiveness,  that  has  been  artificially  fostered 
in  the  nursery  and  in  the  schoolroom. 

But  between  us  and  the  Germans,  at  any 
249 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

rate  in  the  Southern  States,  there  is  no 
reason  why  this  hate  should  outlive  the  war. 
That  is,  of  course,  if  the  attitude  of  the 
people  of  Mainz  can  be  taken  as  in  any  way 
representative  of  the  other  Rhine  towns.  For 
we  could  not  have  been  more  hospitably  re- 
ceived. There  are  those,  of  course,  who  will 
say,  "  Ah,  but  they  were  pulling  your  leg, 
they  were  only  trying  to  see  what  they 
could  get  out  of  you.  You  spent  money  in 
their  cafes,  that  was  what  they  wanted ;  and 
you  gave  them  chocolate  and  soup,  that's 
what  they  were  after."  I  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt  that  a  great  many  Germans 
attached  themselves  to  us  solely  for  ulterior 
purposes.  But  as  a  whole  I  believe  that  the 
civilians  in  Mainz  were  quite  honestly  pleased 
to  be  able  to  do  for  us  anything  they  could, 
as  a  sort  of  proof  that  they  had  altered  their 
Government,  that  the  war  was  over,  and 
that  they  had  no  wish  to  nourish  any  ill- 
feeling  against  us.  And  those  who  see  be- 
hind this  display  of  friendship  the  calculated 
deceit  of  a  political  stunt,  are,  it  seems  to 

250 


Freedom 

me,  merely  seeing  their  own  reflections  in 
the  looking-glass  of  life. 

The  Germans  themselves  were  immensely 
enthusiastic  about  the  revolution;  they  saw 
in  it  a  complete  social  panacea. 

"  Everything  will  be  all  right  now,"  one 
of  them  said  to  me.  "  We  shall  abolish  our 
big  standing  army,  and  our  big  fleet,  and 
so  we  shall  be  able  to  cut  down  our 
taxes.  Before  the  war  our  lives  were  being 
crushed  out  of  us,  so  that  generals  could 
retire  on  large  pensions.  But  now  every 
one  will  have  to  work.  We  shall  be  really 
democratic." 

"  And,"  he  said,  "  we  are  not  going  to 
have  our  children  overworked  in  the  schools. 
We  shall  cut  down  the  hours.  Before,  it  was 
so  hard  to  earn  a  living  in  Germany,  that 
children  had  to  work  like  that  or  they 
would  have  been  left  behind.  Competition 
was  ruining  us.     But  now  .  .  .  ." 

There  was  there  the  blind  optimism  that 
is  born  by  the  glimmering  of  a  hope  how- 
ever far  withdrawn.     The  only  real  dread 

251 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

they  had  was  that,  when  the  troops  returned, 
Bolshevism  might  break  out. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  at  the  front  the 
troops  were  well  fed.  Of  course  they  had 
no  delicacies,  but  they  had  enough;  while 
now  they  are  returning  to  a  coimtry  that 
is  practically  starving.  They  will  have  to 
share  with  us;  we  are  no  longer  militarists, 
and  we  do  not  see  why  they  should  have  the 
best  of  everything.  It  is  possible  that  there 
will  be  trouble.  But  whatever  we  do,  we 
shall  not  be  like  Russia.  We  have  more 
common  sense,  we  are  better  educated,  we 
are  not  religious  maniacs,  we  shall  not  be 
swayed  by  a  few  demagogues.  We  are  too 
sane  to  go  to  such  extremities." 

And  it  was  quite  clear  that  they  had  no 
intention  of  restoring  the  Kaiser.  Having 
once  decided  to  choose  him  as  their  scape- 
goat, they  had  done  the  business  thoroughly. 
On  him  they  laid  the  whole  bm^den  of  their 
adversities. 

"  He  led  us  into  this,  and  he  kept  the 
truth  from  us.     If  we  had  known  that  it 

252 


Freedom 

would  come  to  this,  we  would  have  made 
peace  months  ago.  We  should  not  have  let 
our  children  die  for  want  of  food." 

But,  as  regards  actual  liberty,  the  revolu- 
tion had  merely  substituted  one  tyranny  for 
another,  and  that  a  military  one.  No  doubt 
things  will  adjust  themselves  shortly,  and 
at  this  time  strong  discipline  was  clearly 
essential.  But  the  individual  had  very  little 
freedom.  The  patrols  of  the  Red  Guard 
paraded  the  streets  all  day  with  loaded 
rifles ;  at  eleven  o'clock  they  entered  and 
cleared  the  cafes.  After  that  hour  they 
arrested  any  one  they  found  in  the  streets. 
Moreover,  they  had  authority  to  raid  private 
houses  whenever  they  liked,  a  privilege  of 
which  they  frequently  availed  themselves. 
Altogether  this  government  of  the  people 
by  the  people  did  not  seem  to  me  so  de- 
sirable an  Utopia,  though  as  a  revolution  it 
might  be  a  triumph  of  order  and  moderation. 

Our  week  of  liberty  in  Mainz  passed 
quickly  and  pleasantly.  It  was  a  coloured, 
leisured  life,  a  continual  drifting  from  one 

253 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

cafe  to  another;  we  played  innumerable 
games  of  billiards,  listened  to  the  music  in 
the  Kaiserhof,  sampled  all  the  cinemas, 
and  heard  Der  Troubadour  at  the  theatre. 
Just  off  the  main  street  was  a  small  res- 
taurant where  we  took  all  our  meals.  It 
was  in  rather  an  out-of-the-way  spot,  and 
as  we  were  the  only  officers  to  discover  it, 
we  became  during  that  week  a  sort  of 
institution.  The  proprietor  struck  up  quite 
a  friendship  with  us,  and  whenever  we 
came  in,  he  used  to  produce  from  his  cup- 
board a  bottle  of  tomato  sauce.  It  bore 
the  name  of  Crosse  &  Blackwell,  and  he  was 
very  proud  of  his  possession.  To  offer  us  a 
share  in  it  was  the  greatest  compliment  he 
could  pay. 

Our  last  night  there  I  shall  never  forget. 
We  came  in  rather  late  for  dinner,  and  by 
the  time  we  had  finished  it  was  well  after 
ten,  but  the  proprietor  insisted  on  us  staying 
a  little  longer.  He  set  us  down  at  the  same 
table  as  his  friends  and  produced  a  vast 
quantity    of   wine.     They    were    hospitable 

254 


Freedom 

folk,  and  two  hours'  companionship  over  a 
bottle  had  removed  all  tendencies  to  reserve. 

Opposite  me  was  a  German  officer  who 
had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in 
England;  and  his  flow  of  words  bore  irre- 
futable testimony  to  the  potency  of  Rhine 
wine. 

"  I  have  lived  among  you  all  my  life,"  he 
said;  "  I  do  not  wish  to  fight  against  you. 
I  have  no  quarrel  with  the  English.  It  is 
only  the  French  I  hate,  the  bloody  French. 
I  would  do  anything  I  could  to  harm  them. 
They  hate  us  and  we  hate  them,"  and  a 
man  generally  speaks  the  truth  when  he  is 
drunk. 

The  end  of  the  evening  was  less  glorious. 
It  was  well  after  eleven  before  we  managed 
to  escape  after  countless  Aufwiedersehens, 
and  no  sooner  had  we  got  outside  the  house 
than  we  walked  straight  into  a  patrol  of  the 
Red  Guard,  by  whom  we  were  arrested,  and 
returned  to  the  citadel  under  an  armed 
escort. 

Next  morning  we  were  marched  down  into 
255 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

a  train  for  Metz.  All  the  German  officers 
from  the  camp  and  a  considerable  number 
of  civilians  came  to  see  us  off.  As  I  leant 
out  of  the  window,  to  catch  a  last  glimpse 
of  the  cathedral,  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
realise  that  the  war  was  over  and  that  we 
were  going  home.  It  was  the  day  to  which 
we  had  looked  forward  for  so  long,  the  day 
of  which  we  had  dreamt  so  much  during 
the  cold  and  loneliness  of  the  nights  in 
France.  It  had  been  then  immeasurably 
remote,  a  flickering  imcertain  gleam,  too 
far  away  for  any  tangible  hope.  And  the 
mind  had  fastened  upon  those  nearer  proba- 
bilities of  leave,— a  blighty,  or  a  course 
behind  the  line.  And  now  that  day  had 
really  come,  I  could  not  grasp  its  significance. 
I  was  almost  afraid  to  look  forward,  and 
my  mind  went  back  to  the  earlier  days  of 
our  captivity,  to  the  himger  and  the  de- 
pression, to  the  intolerable  tedium  and 
irritation.  And  yet,  for  all  that,  a  wave  of 
sentimentality  partially  obscured  the  sharp- 
ness of  those  memories.     We  had  had  some 

256 


Freedom 

good  times  there  in  the  citadel;  that  grey 
monochrome  had  not  been  entirely  unre- 
lieved. There  had  been  certain  moments 
worth  remembering;  and  I  thought  that, 
when  the  incidents  of  the  past  four  years 
had  settled  down  into  their  true  perspec- 
tive, I  should  be  able  to  look  back,  not 
without  a  certain  kindliness,  towards  that 
imnatural  life,  that  strange  world  of  sub- 
stitute and  sauerkraut. 

§2 

The  journey  home  was  protracted  by 
innumerable  delays.  We  left  Mainz  on 
November  24th,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
5th  of  December  that  we  arrived  in  London. 
We  spent  five  days  in  Nancy,  another  three 
in  Boulogne,  and  the  trains  behaved  as  is 
their  wont  on  the  railroads  of  France.  All 
this  rather  tended  to  dispel  the  glamour  of 
the  return. 

For  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  leave 
is  its  suddenness.  One  is  sitting  on  the 
steps  of  a  dugout  musing  gloomily  on  the 
s  257 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

probable  chance  of  a  relief,  when  a  runner 
arrives  from  Battalion  with  a  chit,  "  You 
will  proceed  on  U.K.  leave  to-night.  The 
train  leaves  Arras  at  8.10  p.m."  And  then 
the  world  is  suddenly  haloed  with  flame. 
One  rushes  down  the  dugout,  flings  hurried 
orders  to  the  sergeant,  collects  all  that  is 
least  important  in  one's  kit,  scatters  an 
extravagance  of  largess  among  the  batmen 
who  have  collected  it,  and  then  races  for 
H.Q.  It  is  all  a  scramble  and  a  rush. 
The  mess  cart  is  chartered,  within  a  couple 
of  hours  one  is  at  the  railhead;  a  night  of 
cramp  and  discomfort  and  one  is  at  Bou- 
logne ;  there  is  just  time  for  a  bath  at  the 
E.F.C.  Club,  and  then  the  boat  sails.  There 
is  a  train  waiting  at  the  other  end,  and  the 
whole  business  takes  only  twenty-four  hours. 
It  is  like  a  tale  from  the  Arabian  Nights. 
At  one  moment  one  is  sitting  on  a  firestep, 
the  next  one  is  in  London.  It  embodies 
the  very  essence  of  romance. 

But   the   return   of    the    Gefangener   was 
altogether  different.     He  had  plenty  of  time 

258 


Freedom 

in  which  to  collect  his  thoughts,  the  return 
to  civilised  life  was  marked  by  slow  grada- 
tions. At  Metz  he  could  get  a  decent 
bath,  at  Nancy  a  decent  dinner.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  Boulogne,  his  odyssey 
had  assumed  the  most  prosaic  proportions. 
There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  for  those  who 
had  been  prisoners  only  a  few  months  the 
leave  boat  was  infinitely  more  exciting. 

But  there  were,  of  course,  compensations. 
After  having  lived  on  tinned  meats  for  eight 
months,  it  was  a  thrilling  experience  to 
find  a  menu  that  comprised  fried  sole  and 
grouse,  Brussel  sprouts  and  iced  grapes. 
Over  my  first  dinner  I  took  three  hours.  It 
was  a  gluttonous  but  on  the  whole  a  natural 
exhibition.  It  also  saved  us  from  a  further 
period  of  confinem.ent. 

For  when  we  arrived  at  Nancy  one  of  the 
first  pieces  of  intelligence  we  received,  was 
the  news  that  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
provide  a  train  for  us  within  five  days.  To 
many  ardent  spirits  this  was  a  sad  blow, 
and  one  or  two  adventurers  decided  that 
S2  259 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

whatever  the  rest  might  do,  they  themselves 
were  not  going  to  wait  five  days  "  for  any 
blooming  train,"  and  among  these  rebels  I 
had  rather  naturally  numbered  myself. 

During  the  afternoon  I  went  down  to  the 
station  with  Barron,  the  constant  com- 
panion of  my  perad ventures,  and  inter- 
viewed the  railway  authorities.  Now  there 
is  only  one  way  to  deal  with  a  military 
policeman;  it  is  no  good  trying  to  dodge 
him.  He  knows  that  trick  too  well.  The 
frontal  assault  is  the  one  road  to  success. 
We  walked  straight  up  to  him. 

"  Corporal,"  I  said,  "  we're  going  to  Paris." 

"Very  good,  Sir;  you've  got  your  move- 
ment order  made  out,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  Corporal,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't,"  I 
confessed. 

He  grunted. 

"  That  makes  it  a  bit  awkward,  Sir;  you 
see,  I  have  got  orders.  Sir,  to  .  .  .  ." 

At  this  juncture  a  five-franc  note  changed 
hands. 

"  But,  Sir,  of  course  it  could  be  managed, 
260 


Freedom 

I  expect,  if  you're  down  at  ten  minutes  to 
eleven.     Well,  Sir,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

That  was  all  right;  and  feeling  ourselves 
rather  dogs,  we  made  our  way  back  to  the 
Stanislas  and  had  a  game  of  billiards.  At 
half -past  six  we  sat  down  to  a  long,  carefully 
selected  dinner  and  two  bottles  of  cham- 
pagne; and  as  the  evening  progressed  a 
delightful  warmth  and  languor  came  over 
us.  A  bed  with  a  spring  mattress  seemed 
more  than  ever  desirable. 

"  It  won't  be  a  very  comfortable  journey," 
hazarded  my  companion.     "  It  will  take  a 
good  ten  hours." 
"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  It  really  seems  rather  a  sweat  .  .  .  ." 
"  Old   man,"   I   said   sternly,    "  I've  paid 
that  corporal  five  francs,  and  on  my  mother's 
side  I'm  Scots." 

And  we  returned  to  our  attack  on  the 
omelette. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  the  world  of 
languor  grew  even  fairer.  Effort  then  ap- 
peared almost  criminal.     Surely  the  supreme 

261 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

delight  of  life  lay  in  this  slow  puffing  at  a 
cigarette.  The  idea  of  our  all-night  journey 
became  increasingly  abhorrent. 

"  Archie,"  I  said,  "  do  you  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  get  any  sleep  in  this  train?  " 

"  We  shall  be  too  cold.  You  know  what 
a  French  train  is  ?  " 

And  again  there  was  a  silence.  By  this 
time  we  had  reached  the  coffee  stage.  In 
about  half  an  hour  we  should  have  to  go. 
There  would  be  a  longish  walk  back  to  our 
billets,  then  we  should  have  to  pack  and 
lug  our  bags  all  the  way  down  to  the  station. 
It  really  didn't  seem  worth  while.  .  .  . 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  "  we  shall  only  gain 
five  days  by  this,  and  I'm  jolly  sleepy.  .  .  ." 

"  And  if  it's  your  Scots  blood  that  is 
troubling  you,"  my  companion  burst  out, 
"  I'll  pay  you  the  damned  five  francs  now, 
and  with  interest." 

That  settled  it. 

"  Gar9on,"  I  called,  "  I'addition,  s'il  vous 
plait,  et  cherchez-moi  un  fiacre,  je  suis  fort 
epuise." 

262 


Freedom 

But  the  others  were  either  made  of  sterner 
stuff,  or  else  they  had  wearied  of  the  lures 
of  the  Stanislas.  At  any  rate  they  pre- 
sented themselves  duly  before  the  military 
policeman  at  10.50,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  they  were  on  their  way  to  Paris, 
to  that  city  of  gay  colours  and  gayer  women ; 
while  stretched  out  peacefully  on  a  delight- 
ful spring  mattress,  two  renegades  slept  a 
coward's  sleep. 

Well,  the  last  I  heard  of  those  lambent 
rebels  was  that  on  their  arrival  at  Paris 
they  were  instantly  arrested  by  the  A.P.M., 
and  when  we  left  Boulogne  they  were  still 
sending  urgent  telegrams  over  France,  beg- 
ging for  an  instant  release.  Wiether  this 
has  been  since  accorded  them  I  do  not  know, 
but  when  I  v/ent  down  to  Victoria  a  week 
after  my  arrival  to  meet  a  friend,  I  saw, 
stacked  in  a  neglected  corner,  a  huge  pile 
of  the  white  wood  boxes  that  were  peculiar 
to  the  Offiziergefangenenlager,  Mainz.  And 
on  those  boxes  were  the  names  of  those 
bright  warriors   who  had  defied  authority. 

263 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

Their  luggage  had  come  on  afterwards  with 
us,  and  had  preceded  them  by  many  days. 
They  were  very  gallant  fellows,  very  resolute 
and  proud-hearted,  but  ...  I  am  glad  I 
went  to  the  Stanislas. 

And  when  we  did  eventually  move  from 
Nancy,  it  was  not  in  one  of  the  unspeakable 
leave  trains,  but  in  a  hospital  train,  fitted 
with  every  possible  convenience  and  com- 
fort. As  in  the  haven  of  the  Pre-Raphaelite, 
there  were  "  beds  for  all  who  come,"  and 
beds,  moreover,  that  were  poised  on  springs, 
and  that  swung  gently  to  the  movement  of  the 
engine.     For  thirty-six  hours  we  slept  solidly. 

And  at  Boulogne  we  were  provided  with  a 
hospital  boat;  indeed,  we  might  have  been 
the  most  serious  stretcher  cases,  instead  of 
being  rather  imtidy,  very  lazy,  and  thor- 
oughly war-weary  Gefangenen,  It  was  a 
royal  return. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  with  a  warrant 
for  two  months'  leave  in  my  pocket,  I 
was  standing  on  Victoria  platform,  a  free 
man.     I  had  often  wondered  what  it  would 

264 


Freedom 

feel  like.  Would  it  seem  very  strange  to  be 
no  longer  under  authority,  to  be  able  to  do 
what  I  liked,  and  to  go  where  I  wanted  ?  I 
had  wondered  whether  the  atmosphere  of  a 
prison  camp  would  still  hang  over  me,  and 
whether  I  should  see  in  commissionaires  and 
waiters  some  dim  survival  of  those  whis- 
kered sentries.  When  I  went  to  a  theatre, 
should  I  turn  rather  nervously  to  the  pow- 
dered lackey  in  the  vestibule,  as  if  half 
expecting  a  thundered  "  es  ist  verboten  "  ? 
Would  it  take  long  to  drop  those  habits  of 
subservience  ? 

But  when  I  was  once  there,  all  those  mis- 
givings were  as  a  dream.  It  seemed  that  I 
had  never  been  away  at  all.  *Vith  my  old- 
time  skill,  I  overawed  a  taxi-driver,  and 
promised  to  "  make  it  worth  his  while."  I 
drove  round  to  my  banker,  and  cashed  an 
enormous  cheque ;  then  to  my  tailors  to  order 
a  civilian  suit.     And  then — Hampstead. 

I  lay  back  against  the  padded  cushion 
and  watched  each  well-known  landmark  fall 
behind  me— Lord's,  Swiss  Cottage,  the  Hamp- 

265 


The  Prisoners  of  Mainz 

stead  cricket  field.  Surely  I  had  never  been 
away  at  all.  Those  eight  months  in  Ger- 
many, they  were  merely  some  old  remnant 
of  a  fairy  tale,  ein  Mdrchen  aus  alien  Zeiten  ; 
they  had  no  real  existence.  I  felt  as  though 
I  were  coming  back  from  Sandhurst  for  my 
Christmas  leave.  There  had  been  no  separa- 
tion. In  the  last  month  I  had  had  one 
week-end  leave  and  two  Sunday  passes.  It 
was  just  a  resumption  of  the  old  life,  a  slipping 
back  into  the  ordered  harmony  of  days. 

The  taxi  drew  up  outside  the  door;  I 
knocked  on  the  window  with  my  stick,  and 
the  hall  was  instantly  alive  with  welcome. 
But  I  could  not  make  it  an  occasion  for 
heroics.  It  did  not  seem  in  any  way  a 
special  event,  demanding  any  exceptional 
excitement . 

"  Father,"  I  said,  "  I've  got  no  change. 
You  might  give  that  taxi-driver  ten 
shillings." 


INDEX 


"  Alcove,"  the,  its  cosy  com- 
forts, 173;  protection  of  its 
owii  interests,  175-8 ;  a  place 
of  happy  memories,  186-90 ; 
Milton  Hayes  in  retirement 
in,  207 

Alhambra,  the,  the  future 
home  of  Aubrey  Dowdon, 
201 

Amiens,  its  luxuries,  150 

Amusements  in  captivity,  193 
et  seq. 

Anti  -  Northclijfe  Times,  the, 
222 

Architecture  flourishes  in  the 
Alcove,  178 

Armistice,  the,  in  Mainz,  236 
et  seq. 

"  Arnold,"  Capt.,  his  bibulous 
escapade  at  Karlsruhe,  113 

Arras  to  St.  Quentin,  attack 
upon,  3 

Asceticism,  its  ethics  con- 
sidered, 53 

Aspirin,  German  doctor's  sole 
prescription,  128 

Authorship,  as  fostered  by  the 
Pitt  League,  173,  178 

Baden-Hessen,  its  native  mode- 
ration, 117 

Bapaume,  14 

Barclay,  Mrs.  Florence,  lengths 
resorted  to  by  a  prisoner  to 
secure  her  Rosary,  50 

"  Barron,"  Lieut.,  his  capacity 
for  sleep,  131;  his  ingenuity 
as  cook,  132 ;  his  self-sacrifice 
in  a  good  cause,  135;  his 
amiable  companionship,  141 ; 
a  friend  to  the  last,  260 

Beauty  chorus  of  the  "  Buck- 
shees,"  214 

Beef  dripping  as  an  ingredient 
in  chocolate  souffle,  133 


Bennett,  Mr.  Arnold,  his 
praises  sung,  184 

Berlin,  all  roads  lead  to,  16 

Berliner  Tagehlatt,  Der,  its 
hectic  effusions,  224 

Bible,  the,  sacrilege  upon,  by 
a  German  officer,  125 

Billiards  as  a  form  of  athletics, 
196 

Bolshevism,  the  shadow  of, 
233 ;  a  German  waiter  on,  237 

Bomenheim,  Herr,  formerly 
window-cleaner,  eventually 
Commandant  of  Frankfort, 
241 

"  Book  of  Common  Prayer," 
•  its  inadequacy  as  a  complete 
prison-library,  49 

Boulogne,  prisoners  at,  262 

Bout-Merveille,  generosity  of 
the  inhabitants,  34 

Bread,  arrival  of,  at  Mainz  : 
mouldiness  of,  102 

Brooke,  Rupert,  191 

"  Buckshees,"  the,  Milton 
Hayes's  operatic  company 
at  Mainz,  210 

BuUecourt,  capture  of,  4 

Bully- beef  as  an  incentive  to 
platitude,  104;  its  mono- 
tony, 129 

Bureaucra,cy,  its  insidious  in- 
fluence among  prisoners,  64 ; 
its  inquisitiveness,  65;  its 
confusion  of  literature  with 
commerce,  66;  German  bu- 
reaucracy and  food  parcels, 
109 

Byron,  Lord,  Lieut.  Stone's 
resemblance  to,  176 

Cambrai,  Headquarter  orders 

concerning,  7 
Caiman,  Mr.  Gilbert,  his  Stucco 

House  saved  from  fire,   10; 


267 


Index 


Lieut.  Stone's  mild  admira- 
tion for,  184 
Captivity,  its  irksomeness  and 

psychology,  139-46 

Carlton  Hotel,  a  waiter  at,  now 

a  German  orderly  in  Mainz, 

237 ;  his  political  views,  237 

Censor  of  letters,  his  natural 

modesty,  78 
Cheshire  Cheese,  the,  visions  of, 
in  captivity  and  after,  188 

Chestnuts,  their  nutritive  value 
as  coffee,  27 

Chocolate,  its  Shavian  import- 
ance in  event  of  an  escape, 
160;  its  market  price  in 
Germany,  229 

Chocolate  souffle,  novel  recipe 
for,  132 

Claustrophobia,  its  effect  on 
prisoners,  47 

Colonels,  three  British,  attempt 
to  escape  from  Mainz,  161; 
ignominious  result  of,  163 

Commandant  of  Mainz,  the,  his 
arrogant  pomposity,  121; 
his  vindictiveness,  123;  his 
cheap  revenges,  123 ;  his  con- 
tempt for  literature,  125; 
his  punishments  for  at- 
tempted escapes,  164;  his 
final  error  and  fall,  242 

Committees,  their  character- 
istic abuses,  209 

Continental  Times,  the,  its  glib 
mendacity,  222;  its  pro- 
German  propaganda,. 223 

Cooking  in  a  prison  camp,  129 

Copenhagen,  bread  arrives 
from,  100 

Corporal,  scepticism  of  a  sec- 
tion-, 2 

Correspondence,  abnormal,  14 

Cox,  Messrs.,  the  accommodat- 
ing bankers,  58 

"  Croft,"  Col.,  as  harbinger  of 
food,  101 


Crown  Prince,  the,  his  inflam- 
matory portraits,  98 

Cuff,  Sergeant,  in  The  Moon- 
stone, 158 

Dane,  Miss  Clemence,  her  fic- 
tion under  fire,  9 

Dickens,  Charles,  his  extrava- 
gant characterisation  repro- 
duced in  Col.  "  Westcott,"  69 

Dictaphones,  German  use  of,  30 

Douai,  prisoners  march  to,  23 ; 
illiterate  melancholy  of,  27; 
dictaphones  at,  30 

"  Dowdon,"  Aubrey,  his  as- 
tounding musical  gifts,  198 ; 
his  imperishable  libretti, 
201;  stimulating  his  ambi- 
tion, 202;  to  the  rescue  of 
the  "  Buckshees,"  212 

Dowson,  Ernest,  188 

Doyle,  Sir  Francis  Hastings, 
his  inspiration  of  the  modern 
soidier,  21 

"  Dried  Veg,"  nutritive  solace 
of,  56 

Dury,  24 

Ecoust,  capture  of,  4 

Education,  the  British  dislike 
of,  68 

Escapes,  the  romance  of,  152 
various    schemes    for,    154 
the  first  attempt  at,  158-62 
effect  of,  upon  cowardly  na- 
tures,  164;    punishment  for 
attempts,  164 ;  Col.  Wright's 
splendid  attempts,  167 ;  and 
their  frustration,  169 

"  Evans,"  Lieut.,  his  know- 
ledge of  charts,  13;  his  tact- 
ful reticence,  15 ;  his  watch- 
fulness, 15;  liis  unsuccessful 
quest  for  parcels,  106;  his 
enthusiasm  for  Col.  "  West- 
cott's "  oratory,  130;  his 
natural  appetite,   134;  and 


268 


Index 


picturesque   language,    134; 
his  cookery  examination,  136 

Field  Service  Regulations,  their 
bearing  upon  capture,  18 

Finland,  its  future  in  the 
herring  trade,  84 

Fiimish  language,  the,  its 
visionary  path  to  a  Priority 
Pass,  83 

Flaubert,  Gustave,  144;  his 
slow  workmanship,  183 

Foch,Marshal,e£fect  of  his  offen- 
sive on  the  German  mind,232 

Food,  the  lack  of,  27,  31,  50, 
51 ;  cost  of,  in  Germany,  228 

Food-parcels,  their  absorbing 
interest,  55,  100,  105 

Football  in  captivity,  194 

Frankfort,  Central  Command 
at,  vindicates  the  integrity 
of  literature,  126 ;  the  effect 
of  the  armistice  at,  240 

Frankfurter  Zeitung,  Der,  its 
journalistic  continence,  93; 
its  popularity  among  prison- 
ers, 223 ;  no  fosterer  of  wild 
rumour,  238 

French,  German  hatred  of,  249 

French  language,  the,  difficulty 
of  acquiring  among  prison- 
ers, 64;  the  British  bureau- 
crat's estimate  of,  66 

"  Frobisher,"  Capt.,  his  mili- 
tary enthusiasm,  174;  his 
disKke  of  "  the  Huns,"  174; 
his  inappropriateness  in  the 
Alcove,  175;  the  scheme  for 
his  removal,  176;  his  anti- 
pathy to  poetry,  177;  his 
final  exit  from  the  Alcove,  178 

Future  Career  Society,  the,  its 
inauguration  and  methods, 
63 ;  its  bureaucratic  adminis- 
trators, 64-6 ;  its  early  popu- 
larity and  subsequent  fail- 
ure, 67-8 


Games  in  captivity,  their 
scarcity,  193 

German  officers,  their  un- 
shaved  condition,  19;  their 
mean  suspicions,  110;  their 
lack  of  humour,  112;  their 
duphcity,  121;  solitary  ex- 
ample of  wit  among,  126; 
degradation  of,  under  revo- 
lution, 233 

German  people,  the,  psycho- 
logy in  war-time,  91 ;  its 
freedom  from  vindictiveness, 
92;  its  ignorance  of  the 
origin  of  the  war,  96;  its 
despair  at  the  result,  224; 
after  the  armistice,  248 ; 
German  war-poetry  con- 
sidered, 94-6 

German  professor,  a,  upon  the 
war  and  the  national  charac- 
teristics, 97,  238 

German  sentries,  their  cour- 
teous demeanour,  33 ;  their 
starved  condition,  117;  their 
ubiquity  at  Mamz,  153 ;  neg- 
lect of  duty,  162 ;  their  pas- 
sion for  boxing,  168;  their 
visions  in  days  to  come,  191 

Gibbs,  Mr.  Philip,  his  vivid 
journalism,  14 

Girl  on  the  Stairs,  The,  success- 
ful operetta  at  Mainz,  201 

"  Gladstone,"  Lieut.,  as  a 
musical  composer,  213 

Gomorrah,  the  dispensation  of, 
87 

Gosse,  Mr.  Edmund,  quoted, 
149 

Graves,  Capt.  Robert,  his 
poems  a  perpetual  comfort 
in  the  trenches,  9;  his  ad- 
mirable war-poetry,  94 

Green  Eye  of  the  Little  Yellow 
God,  The,  masterpiece  of 
Lieut.  T.  miton  Hayes,  M.C., 
41,  42,  43 


269 


Index 


Guides,  the  trustworthiness  of, 
in  France,  11 

Ham,  14 

Hampstead,  home,  and  beauty, 
265 

Hardy,  Mr.  Thomas,  unwilling 
sacrifice  of  his  works  under 
fire,  9 

Harrod's  Stores,  its  infalli- 
bility, 119 

"  Hawkins,"  Private,  his  dan- 
gerous passion  for  cigarettes, 
16;  his  convenient  flesh- 
wound,  17 

"  Hawkshaw,  Silas  P.,"  Lieut. 
Milton  Hayes's  great  crea- 
tion of,  217 

Hayes,  Lieut.  T.  IVIilton,  M.C, 
his  personal  appearance,  41 ; 
his  study  of  popular  taste, 
41 ;  his  masterpieces,  41 ;  his 
literary  methods  and  artistic 
imagination,  42 ;  secret  of  his 
greatness,  43;  his  exploita- 
tion of  young  love,  44;  his 
inevitable  success  after  the 
war,  45;  his  theories  on  the 
gratification  of  appetite,  54 ; 
his  genial  presence  in  the 
Alcove,  179 ;  the  Colossus  of 
the  Mainz  Theatre,  198;  his 
smile,  198 ;  his  childUke  plea- 
sure in  his  own  wit,  199 ;  his 
temporary  retirement,  205; 
his  restoration  by  Sanato- 
gen,  205;  the  victim  of  pro- 
fessional rivalry,  207 ;  founds 
the  "Buckshees,"  210;  his 
managerial  methods,  212; 
his  beauty  chorus,  214;  his 
wonderful  opera,  216;  him- 
self alone  the  Arabian  bird, 
217 ;  the  eternal  gratitude  of 
his  friends,  221 

Heine,  Hehirich,  his  bridge  at 
Mainz,  47 


Hendecourt,  capture  of,  6 
Hindenburg,  German  faith  in, 

20 
Hockey  in  captivity,  195 
Holzminden,  a  notoriously  bad 

camp,  120 
Housman,    Mr.  A.   E.,   Lieut. 
Stone's  recitations  from,  176 
Hueffer,  Mr.  Ford  Madox,  con- 
fiscation of  his  Heaven  by 
German  officials,  111 
Humour,  German  lack  of,  112 
Hunger,    a    prisoner's    purga- 
tory, 31,  51,  52 
"  Hmis,"  German  distaste  for 
the  term,  112 

Ill-treatment  of  English  officers 
in  prison-camps,  120;  by 
incompetent  German  doc- 
tors, 128 

Imprisonment,  effect  on  the 
nerves,  138 

Interpreters,  German,  their 
simple  gullibility,  29;  their 
estimate  of  John  Bull,  30 

Irishmen,  their  vitality  in  a 
queue,  61 

Jealousy,  professional,  of  rival 
actors,  202 ;  its  influence  on 
captivity,  203;  its  compari- 
son with  the  hate  of  nations, 
204;  it  works  like  mischief, 
208 

John  Bull,  the  London  weekly, 
German  interpreter's  witti- 
cism concerning,  30 

Kaiser,  the,  his  boasted  resem- 
blance to  Attila,  113;  his 
continued  popularity  in  Ger- 
many, 231;  his  desertion, 
232;  the  scapegoat  of  his 
people,  252 

Eantine,  the,  at  Mainz,  its 
uses  and  abuses,  55,  59,  60; 
its  supply  of  text-books,  67 ; 


270 


Index 


its  consolations  and  diver- 
sions, 145;  its  commercial 
subtlety,  147 

Karlsruhe,  prisoners  arrive  at, 
33;  comparative  comfort-of, 
37 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The,  Lieut. 
IVIilton  Hayes's  strange 
theory  concerning,  55 

Koln,  the  revolution  at,  232 

Lawn  tennis  in  captivity,  195 

Lens,  alarming  reports  con- 
cerning, 14 

"  Leola,  daughter  of  the  Hes- 
perides,"  her  appearance  and 
its  effect,  215 

Lice,  plague  of,  31 

Lille,  apprehension  regarding,  14 

Lissauer,  his  cheap  vehemence, 
95 

Literature,  its  military  incon- 
venience, 8 ;  its  military  rela- 
tion to  book-keeping,  65; 
its  contemptuous  ill-treat- 
ment by  German  officers,  126 

Liver  paste,  its  popularity 
among  prisoners,  60 

Longworth,  Mr.  F.  Dames-,  his 
epistolary  courtesies,  235 

Loom  of  Youth,  The,  its  length 
and  breadth,  182 ;  its  charac- 
teristic language,  182 

Lorna  Doone  as  a  study  in  the 
gratification  of  appetite,  55 

Louis  Napoleon  in  La  Debacle, 
strange  effect  upon  a  hungry 
prisoner,  54 

Louvain,  commissariat  at,  84 

Lustige  Blatter,  its  gory  carica- 
tures, 93 

Lyceum  melodrama  and  the 
facts  of  war,  21 

Lyttelton,  Canon  the  Hon.  E., 
his  repugnance  to  actuality, 
174;  his  helpful  literary 
criticisms,  235 


Maconochie's    beef    dripping, 

108,  129 
Mainz,  mipleasing  prospect  of, 
45;   doleful  arrival  at,   46; 
architectural  features  of,  46- 
47 ;  the  Offizier  Kriegsgef an- 
genenlager  at,  47;  "shades 
of    the    prison-house,"    48; 
prisoners'    routine    at,    48; 
arrival    of    parcels    at,    56; 
bombardment   of,    123;    in- 
adequate medical  service  at, 
127;   the  impregnability  of 
its  citadel,   152-71;  revolu- 
tionists arrive  at,  232;  the 
armistice  at,  246 
Major,  illicit  process  of  a,  215 
Manicure,  its  practice  in  cap- 
tivity, 150 
Marchiemies,  31;  commandant 
at,    his   strict   attention   to 
business,  32 
Mark,  the  value  of,  58 
Maupassant,  Guy  de,  187 
Medical  service,  the  German, 
totalinadequacy  at  Mainz,  127 
Melancholia  of  captivity,  142 
Metz,  prisoners  entrain  for,  256 
Monchy,  M.G.C.  at,  5,  14,  24 
Moore,  Mr.  George,  effect  of  his 
prose  upon  a  x^risoner  of  war, 
38;  his  yearning  for  a  new 
language,    82;    his    support 
expected, 87 ;  his  confessions, 
189 

Nancy,  prisoners  at,  257 
Nichols,  Mr.  Robert,  his  fine 

war-poetry,  95 
Noreil,  capture  of,  4 

Offensive,  the  Great  (March  21, 
1918),  1-17 

Officers,  English,  their  treat- 
ment as  prisoners,  118 

Otto's  Grammars,  illicit  hoard- 
ing of ,  67 


271 


Index 


Oxford  Booh  of  English  Verse, 
its  preservation  from  the 
Germans,  10 

Pater,  Walter,  and  the  psy- 
chology of  captivity,  144; 
quoted,  149;  Lieut.  Stone's 
admiration  for,  184 ;  quoted, 
188 

Patriotism  denounced  by 
Lieut.  Stone  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Rhine  wine,  178 

Paymaster,  official  activities 
of,  58,  61 

Peace,  German  passion  for,  35, 
36,  230 

Perambulation  the  sole  diver- 
sion of  the  prisoner,  196 

Peronne,  14 

Pickwick  Papers,  Lieut.  Milton 
Hayes  upon,  54 

Pitt  League,  the,  its  founda- 
tion by  Col.  "  Westcott," 
71 ;  its  principle  of  combina- 
tion, 72 ;  the  origin  of  its 
name,  72;  its  imperialistic 
sweep,  73,  74;  its  mihtary 
comprehensiveness,  74 ;  its 
success,  76;  its  further  de- 
velopment as  the  Pitt  Escape 
League,  166 ;  its  beneficent 
foundation  of  the  "  Alcove," 
173 

Porter,  Mrs.  Gene  Stratton, 
efforts  of  a  prisoner  to  secure 
her  masterpiece,  50 

"  Pows,"  the,  concert  party  at 
Mainz,  197;  the  rousing  of 
its  ambition,  200 

Press,  the  British,  its  inde- 
fatigable propaganda,  29 

Priority  Pass,  the,  its  concep- 
tion by  Lieut.  "  Wilkins," 
77;  its  philosophy,  78;  its 
deceptive  working,  80 

Public  School  Education,  its 
effect  on  the  soul  of  youth,  148 


Punch,  the  gospel  of  Lieut. 
Milton  Hayes,  213 

Queues,  their  origin  and  psy- 
chology, 58 

"  Radcliffe,"  Lieut.,  his  mas- 
tery of  the  piano,  213 

"  Ragging  "  the  Commandant 
of  Mainz,  123 

Railway  travelling  in  Ger- 
many, its  pestilent  condi- 
tions, 34 

R.A.M.C,  ingenious  treatment 
of  bread,  102 

Rations,  poverty  of,  50,  51 

Red  Cross  Prisoners  of  War 
Depot,  its  efficiency  and 
worth,  37,  38,  100,  110 

Remcourt,  capture  of,  6 

Respirator,  the  psychical  quali- 
ties of  a,  1 

Revolution,  the,  in  Mainz,  232, 
236 

Rhine  wine,  effect  of,  upon 
Lieut.  Stone,  175,  185 

Richards,  Mr.  Grant,  his  pub- 
lisher's contracts,  183 

Richardson,  Mr.  H.  H.,  Lieut. 

[.,  Stone's  enthusiasm  for  the 

!"    works  of,  184 

Romance,  the  Lyric  Theatre 
success,  Lieut.  T.  !Milton 
Hayes's  analysis  of,  44 

Routine  of  the  Gefangenen- 
lager,  48 

Russia,  German  theory  about, 
96 

Sanatogen,  its  effect  on  Lieut. 
IVIilton  Hayes,  205 

Sassoon,  Mr.  Siegfried,  his  "  In 
the  Pink,"  95;  a  poor  com- 
pliment to,  223 

Satin-tasso  as  a  resource  in 
captivity,  146 

Sauerkraut,  ubiquity  of,  31,  50 


272 


Ind 


ex 


Scarlet  Pimpernel,  the,  as  an 
example  to  adventurous 
prisoners,  166 

Schopenhauer,  Lieut.  Stone 
expounds,  176 

Schoolmasters,  their  intellec- 
tual mediocrity,  69;  their 
stock  defence,  148 ;  the  long 
array  of,  in  the  Spectator,  235 

Scotsmen,  their  dilatoriness  in 
queues,  61;  their  assistance 
in  Col.  Wright's  attempt  to 
escape,  168 

Secrecy,  official  regard  for,  7 

Self  ridge's,  its  efficient  service, 
119 

Sentries,  German,  their  unex- 
pected affability,  33;  their 
starvation,  117 

Sergeant-Major,  alcoholic  dig- 
nity of  an  English,  23 ;  blind- 
ness of  a  German,  31 

Shakespeare,  William,  hastily 
misquoted  by  a  subaltern,  9 

"  Shivers,"  the,  theatrical  com- 
pany at  Mainz,  200;  its 
beneficent  competition,  200 

Shorthand,  the  British  bureau- 
cratic esteem  for,  66 

Simplicissimus,  its  filthy  car- 
toons, 93 

Squire,  Mr.  J.  C,  his  "To  a 
Bull-dog,"  95 

Starvation,  phenomena  of,  28, 
51,  53,  117 ;  of  Germany,  228 

St.  Leger,  the  Rev.  B.  G. 
Bourchier's  army  hut  at,  5 

"  Stone,"  Lieut.,  his  ready  wit, 
39;  his  fortunate  arrival  at 
Mainz,  48 ;  his  sufferings 
under  the  Priority  Pass  sys- 
tem, 80-2;  his  opinion  of 
botany  as  a  science,  82 ;  his 
share  in  the  vision  of  a  new 
language,  83;  tackles  Capt. 
Frobisher,  175;  his  lecture 
on  the  "higher  life,"   176; 


his     brilliant    conversation, 

184 ;  effects  of  Rhine  wine 

upon,  175,  185;  his  unrecited 

poems,  186 
Swedish  drill,  British  distaste 

for,  194 
Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles, 

his   poems   as   a  covert  for 

propaganda,  125 
Symons,  Mr.  Arthur,   quoted, 

28 ;  the  women  of  his  songs, 

189 

"  Tarrant,"  Lieut.,  his  endur- 
ance under  control,  38;  his 
asceticism,  38;  his  critical 
sallies,  40;  his  self-imposed 
fast,  40 ;  providential  arrival 
of,  at  Mainz,  48 ;  his  invalu- 
able library,  49;  his  break- 
fast hour,  179;  liis  morning 
apparel,  180;  his  literary 
exercises,  181;  his  accuracy, 
182  ;  his  frank  opinion  of  the 
author's  fiction,  235 

Tartarin  re-embodied  in  Col. 
"  Westcott,"  73 

Tatler,  the,  its  coy  picture- 
gallery,  5 

Tchecov,  his  short  stories,  187 

Theatre,  the,  at  Mainz,  closed 
as  a  punishment  for  at- 
tempted escapes,  165;  its 
peaceful  penetration,  172 ; 
its  excellent  shows,  197 

Thurloe  Place,  the  Good  Sama- 
ritan of  the  P.O.W.,  107,  109 

Torquennes,  24 

Treacle,  its  value  in  chocolate 
souffle,  134 

Treatment  of  prisoners,  116 
et  seq. 

Troubadour,  Der,  at  Mainz,  254 

Verlaine,  Paul,  188 

Vis-en-Artois,  24 

Vitry,  prisoners'  reception  at,26 


273 


Index 


War-poetry,  good  and  bad,  94 

War  and  the  politicians,  22G 
et  seq. 

Watts -Dun ton,  Mr.  Theodore, 
compared  with  Lieut.  Stone, 
185 

Waugh,  2nd  Lieut.  Alec  R., 
his  dogmatic  statements  on 
men  and  matters,  1-267; 
his  abnormal  correspond- 
ence, 14 ;  his  dogged  somno- 
lence, 15;  his  first  meeting 
with  Milton  Hayes,  41;  his 
ambitions  for  a  future  career, 
and  their  reception  by  Au- 
thority, 64;  his  apocalyptic 
vision  of  a  new  language,  83 ; 
his  imaginary  acquisition  of 
a  Priority  Pass,  86 ;  his  chas- 
tened disillusionment,  90 ; 
his  recognition  of  his  own 
good  fortime,  92;  his  selec- 
tion as  cook  to  the  mess, 
130;  his  culinary  prowess, 
132-6;  his  experiment  on 
the  school  organ,  157;  his 
contented  hours  in  the  Al- 
cove, 186;  his  love  of  the 
years  before  he  was  born, 
189;  his  castigation  by  a 
body  of  bureaucrats,  209; 
an  unwarrantable  compli- 
ment to,  223;  his  apostacy 
as  a  rebel,  234;  German 
adjutant's  literary  judgment 
of,  235 ;  his  return  home,  265 

Waugh,  Mr.  Arthur,  his  pater- 
nal benevolence,  266 

Waugh,  Mrs.  Arthur,  her  Scot- 
tish descent,  261 

Weather,  the,  effect  upon  a 
prisoner's  spirits,  50 

Webster,  Jolm,  the  favourite 
quotation  of  prisoners  of 
war,  142 


Wells,  Mr.  H.  G.,  Lieut.  Stone 
discusses,  184 

"  Westcott,"  Col.,  his  Dicken- 
sian  qualities,  69;  his  rela- 
tion to  the  music-hall  stage, 
69;  his  soldierly  grip,  70; 
his  hatred  of  individualism, 
70;  his  bravery,  71;  his 
foundation  of  the  Pitt 
League,  71;  his  opening 
speech,  71 ;  his  sense  of 
humour,  72 ;  his  likeness  to 
Tartarin,  73 ;  his  indomitable 
energy,  75 ;  his  affection  for 
his  own  scheme,  75;  as 
Prime  Mmister,  76;  his  en- 
couragement of  honest  am- 
bition, 84;  his  "dream 
within  a  dream,"  89;  the 
popularity  of  his  speeches, 
130;  his  interest  in  at- 
tempted escapes,  155;  the 
GalLio  of  frivolous  amuse- 
ment, 193 

White&t  Man  I  know,  The, 
eminent  monologue  by  Lieut. 
T.  IVIilton  Hayes,  M.C.,  41 

"  Wilkins,"  Lieut.,  his  inge- 
nious conception  of  the 
Priority  Pass,  79 

Woman,  her  ruhng  passion  for 
self-advertisement,  170 

Wood- carving  as  a  resource  in 
captivity,  145 

"  Wright,"  Col.,  his  vahant 
attempt  to  escape,  106;  his 
choice  of  daylight,  166;  his 
unfortunate  intrusion  upon 
a  German  amour,  169;  the 
result,  170;  his  disappear- 
ance from  Mainz,  171 

Zola,  Emile,  La  Terre  in  the 
dugout,  10 ;  La  Debacle  as 
an  irritant  to  hunger,  53 


274 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  LOOM  OF  YOUTH 

BY 

ALEC  WAUGH 

NINTH    EDITION         TWENTIETH   THOUSAND 


GRANT  RICHARDS,   LTD. 


SOME  PRESS  OPINIONS 

Mr.  J.  C.  Squire  in  Land  and  Water, 

"The  difficulties  of  writing  good  school  stories  are  matters  of  common^ 
place  observation.  The  boy  cannot  see  everything,  and,  as  a  rule,  cannot 
write.  The  man  forgets  much  and  sentimentalises  much.  The  dilemma 
will  never  be  completely  avoided.  But  Mr.  Alec  Waugh's  '  The  Loom  of 
Youth'  is  a  remarkable  attempt.  ...  At  his  best,  he  manages  his  material 
like  an  old  hand.     It  is  a  most  astonishing  feat." 

Capt.  C.  K.  Scott-Moncrieff  in  The  Nezv  Witness. 

"  Mr.  Waugh  has  told  us  a  story,  the  story  of  Gordon  Carruthers'  life  at 
Fernhurst.  ...  I  look  forward  confidently  to  see  him  come  to  grips  with 
the  army  as  thoroughly  as  he  has  done  with  the  schools.  This  year  has 
been  big  with  futures,  among  which  that  of  Robert  Nichols  seems  incom- 
parably to  outshine  all  the  rest.  But  Mr.  Waugh  is  an  author  to  be 
diligently  followed  and  enjoyed  with  delight." 

Mr.  Gerald  Gould  in  TAe  New  Statesman. 

"  For  a  writer  of  any  age  '  The  Loom  of  Youth  '  would  be  a  remarkable 
achievement ;  for  a  boy  of  seventeen  it  is  more.  .  .  .  And  the  language  is 
fresh  and  real,  the  talk  is  boys'  talk,  such  as  only  some  one  fresh  from  it 
could  render.  .  .  .  Difficulties  are  overcome  in  two  ways — firstly  by  sheer 
sound  psychology,  by  making  the  characters  so  interesting  that  it  is  their 
minds,  not  their  external  activities,  that  we  bother  about.  ...  I  want,  in 
conclusion,  to  recommend  this  book  for  its  courage  as  well  as  for  its 
interest.  One  main  problem  of  school  life  is  the  moral  one,  which  most 
writers  shirk,  or  if  they  treat  it  at  all,  treat  sentimentally  and  timidly  and 
obliquely.     Mr.  Waugh  goes  right  to  the  point." 


Mr.  Ralph  Straus  in  The  Bystander. 

"You  feel  that  all  the  boys  at  Fernhurst  ,  .  .  are  real  people,  not  the 
agreeable  caricatures,  for  instance,  of  '  The  Hill' ;  and  in  the  Games  Master 
who  is  so  pleasantly  nicknamed  '  The  Bull '  Mr.  Waugh  has  created  a 
character  which  epitomises  the  whole  Public  School  system.  ..."  The 
Loom  of  Youth '  will  take  its  place  amongst  the  few  first-class  school  stories 
which  have  been  published  this  century. " 

Mr.  E.  B.  Osborn  in  The  Morning  Post. 

"  '  The  Loom  of  Youth'  has  some  of  the  faults  of  the  modern  realistic 
story  of  Public  School  life.  But  these  faults  are  insignificant  in  coniparison 
with  its  unusual  merits,  chief  of  which  is  the  sharp  actuality  of  its 
characterisation.  ,  .  .  The  boys  and  masters  we  meet  are  of  reasonable 
flesh  and  blood  ;  of  the  latter  '  The  Bull,'  once  an  England  forward  and 
now  games  master,  is  the  dominant  personality." 

I\lR.  J.  A.  Fort  in  The  Spectator. 

"  The  work,  which  seems  to  me  one  of  extraordinary  power,  seems  to  me 
also  an  honest  attempt  to  '  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,'  as  the  author  himself  saw  it.  I  think  that  the  writer  is,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  a  very  good  witness  in  regard  to  certain  phases  of  Public 
School  life,  and  the  publication  of  his  book  is,  I  believe,  an  event  of 
considerable  importance  in  the  educational  world." 

Mr.  Edwin  Pugh  in  The  Boohnan. 

"  In  'The  Loom  of  Youth'  we  have  the  truth  presented  with  austere 
sincerity,  with  dignity  and  restraint.  .  .  .  Indeed  this  first  book  is  in  itself 
a  fine  achievement,  well  conceived,  well  done  in  every  way,  and  wholly 
praiseworthy,  alike  for  the  excellence  of  its  writing  and  the  worthiness  of 
its  purpose." 

Mr.  H.  W.  Massingham  in  The  Nation. 

"  I  have  read  few  books  that  have  interested  me  more  than  Mr.  Waugh 's 
'  Loom  of  Youth.'  It  is  in  one  respect  an  almost  miraculous  production. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  most  straightforward  account ;  it  cannot  have  been  invented, 
and  yet  I  thought  it  sufficiently  delicate." 

Bunch. 


' '  Prophecy  is  dangerous  ;  but  from  a  writer  who  has  proved  so  brilliantly 
that,  for  once,  jeunesse  pent,  one  seems  justified  in  hoping  that  enlarged 
experience  will  result  in  work  of  the  highest  quality." 

The  Tifnes. 


"  'The  Loom  of  Youth'  is  a  most  promising  book.  Mr.  Alec  Waugh 
has  something  definite  to  say,  the  ability  to  say  it,  and  an  apprehension  of 
the  subtler  causes  of  action  and  inaction." 

The  Daily  Telegraph. 

"An  altogether  7-emarkable  book." 

The  Spectator. 

'    "We  ought  to  congratulate  his  old.  school  on  having  produced  anew 
author  of  such  marked  ability." 


This  book  is  due  two  weeks  from  the  last  date 


stamped  below,  a 
before  that  time  a 

Tid  if  not  returned 

or  renewed  at  or 

fine  of  five  cents  a  day  will  be  incurred. 

.)>;\  u » i 

005. 

.^^ 

a 


^v; 


COLUMBjAUgSS 


H  i: 

XT    o 


0026681633 


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ftPR  1  5  1929 


